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Page. 239 


THEIRS WAS A WICKIUP 







Smugglers’ Island 

and the Devil Fires 
of San Moros 


By 

Clarissa A. Kneeland 


With Illustrations by 
Wallace Goldsmith ^ 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
laitjeci^ibe ^tt0 Cambribce 
1915 


COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY CLARISSA A. KNEELANO 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


Published October jqij 



NQV I 1915 


©CI.A414361<>^ 

H'Ut V- . ' 


CONTENTS 


I. A PICNIC TO THE ISLAND ... I 

II. FOR SHELTER IN A STORM . . . 30 

III. COMMISSARY MATTERS .... 57 

IV. BONANZA COVE 86 

V. THE EGG ISLANDS II3 

VI. THE jaguar’s TRACK .... I49 

VII. THE MUGGYWAH 181 

VIII. THE BUILDING OF THE WICKIUP . .212 

IX. davie’s panal hunt: and what 

CAME OF IT 245 

X. Delbert’s big game .... 260 

XI. WHEREWITHAL SHALL WE BE 

CLOTHED? 274 

XII. DISASTER AND A NEW TASK . . 299 

XIII. HOW THE LAUNCH CAME BACK 

TO smugglers’ 320 

XIV. THE END OF THE PICNIC . . . 344 


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SMUGGLERS’ ISLAND 

and the 

Devil Fires of San Moros 

CHAPTER I 

A PICNIC TO THE ISLAND 

Marian Hadley stood in the doorway of her 
home in a small seaport town of Mexico, watch- 
ing her ten-year-old brother Delbert come stum- 
bling up the hill with his arms full of mail. 

‘‘WeTe out early,” he shouted. ^‘The teacher 
let us all out early. There are the girls coming 
now, down by the office. Oh! and we’re not 
going to have any more school this week. The 
teacher has got to go to the dentist every day, 
and she is n’t going to feel like teaching; so we 
are going to have vacation.” 

"'Dear me,” said Marian, smiling, "what in 
the wide world will you children do, with so 
much spare time on your hands ? ” 

"O Marian! Marian! Can’t we — it will be 
just the time to do it — can’t we go to Smug- 


I 


Smugglers’ Island 


glers’ Island? ’’ Delbert’s body fairly quivered 
with excitement, and his dark eyes were shin- 
ing like stars. ‘‘Let me ask Mr. Cunningham 
for the launch. We could go to-morrow. O 
Marian, do, please!” 

Marian hesitated. “Smugglers’ Island! That 
is a long way off. We could n’t be ready by to- 
morrow; it is late now.” 

“We don’t need anything but a lunch. I 
don’t mean to get up a party. Just us go. We 
don’t need to go to a lot of fuss.” 

If Marian had an especial weakness, it was 
her brother Delbert. She was proud of that 
spirited, handsome little face, and rarely clouded 
it by a refusal if a consent was possible. Besides 
the sister love she gave him in common with 
the other children, there was a desire to make 
up to him the loss of a companion brother who 
had died a few years before, a brother a little 
older than Delbert, but of much the same cast 
of features. 

Now she thought, “Why not? Why think 
one must make elaborate preparations for every 
little pleasure, when the children would enjoy 
it as well, maybe better, without?” 


2 


A Picnic to the Island 

She laughed. ‘‘Here come the girls,” she said. 
‘‘We’ll put it to a vote.” 

The little girls, Jennie and Esther, came up 
the path. Jennie was eight, a puny, thin little 
shadow, with eyes that seemed much too big 
because the face was so thin and colorless. She 
had been born a sickly baby and had averaged 
at least one illness every year of her life since, 
and had never known what actual health was. 
When Mrs. Hadley had decided to accompany 
her husband on his business trip to Guaymas 
she had thought seriously of taking Jennie with 
her, though she had had never a moment’s un- 
easiness at leaving the other three in their sis- 
ter’s care. But it had seemed a pity to take the 
little girl out of school, where she was doing well ; 
and also there was a good American doctor in 
town, whom Marian promised faithfully to send 
for at the first symptom of anything wrong; so, 
as Jennie herself did not seem to care about 
going, it was finally decided she should stay. 

Esther, the six-year-old, stood in pleasing con- 
trast to her sister. Having never known sick- 
ness, she was a sturdy, robust little specimen, 
as plump as the baby David, dimpled and rosy, 
3 


Smugglers’ Island 

with curly hair that was forever getting into her 
bright eyes. 

Delbert was dancing with delight. “Girls, 
girls,” he squealed, “listen, quick. All in favor 
of going to Smugglers’ Island to-morrow, sig- 
nify by saying ‘Aye.’ ” 

“Aye, aye, aye!” he yelled; and Esther, tak- 
ing her cue, also launched a myriad of “ayes,” 
but Jennie shook her head in grave disapproval. 

“You are too ev’lastin’ noisy,” she said. 
“Marian, we are not going in the launch, are 
we.^” 

The baby was calling “Aye” most lustily. 

“There,” declared Delbert, “that’s a m’jor- 
ity, Marian. Three out of five ’s a m’jority.” 

Marian drew Jennie tenderly to her. “Del- 
bert wants to go to Smugglers’ Island to-mor- 
row. It is a long way, but perhaps you would not 
be seasick in the launch. Do you want to go?” 

The little girl’s shining eyes were answer 
enough. Marian laughed and kissed her. “Del- 
bert,” she said then, “take that bill that is in 
my purse down to Mr. Cunningham now and 
refund him for the duties on these packages and 
thank him for me, — don’t forget that, — and 
4 


A Picnic to the Island 

then see if he can let us have the launch to-mor- 
row. It may be let to some one else, but if it 
is n’t, and if we can have it, why, pay him for 
that too, and don’t forget that. But I warn you 
children there ’s not a thing for lunch but bread 
and butter. I have n’t so much as a cooky in the 
jar, and it’s too late for me to bake now.” 

Previously there had lived at the Port for 
some years an American boy whose chief joy in 
life had been found on the water, and, having 
been blest with a small sailboat of his own, he 
had been able to indulge his sailor propensities 
to the utmost. Sometimes with other boys, 
often alone, he had sailed up and down the coast 
for miles, exploring the shallow bays and wind- 
ing esteros^ and he knew all the sandbars and 
islands. 

A few miles out from the Port was a group of 
islands known to the Americans thereabouts as 
the Rosalie Group. The natives gave them an- 
other name, unpronounceable, and certainly un- 
spellable. They consisted of quite an assortment 
of rocky knolls and stunted trees, and little 

^ An estero (pronounced es-td'-ro) is an estuary, an arm of 
the sea. 


5 


Smugglers’ Island 

beaches, fine for bathing. Most people confined 
their seaward excursions to trips of greater or 
less duration of time to these islands, some half- 
dozen in number, but Clarence had ventured 
much farther; he had even gone as far as San 
Moros, many miles down the coast. 

San Moros was a wide-mouthed, shallow bay, 
full of rocks and sandbars, but at its farther 
extremity the young explorer had discovered an 
island that gave unmistakable evidence of hav- 
ing once been inhabited, — probably by smug- 
glers, as in times past they had flourished like 
the bay tree all up and down the west coast, as 
everybody knows. 

Boy-like, Clarence had kept his discovery a 
secret, or at least had revealed it only to a 
chosen few, Marian and Delbert being among the 
elect. And when afterwards he had made a sec- 
ond trip to the place, Mrs. Hadley had allowed 
Delbert to go with him. Clarence had been fond 
of children and of Delbert in particular, and 
often took the little boy with him on his all-day 
trips on the water. On this occasion they had 
camped over and explored the Island and its 
surroundings. 


6 


A Picnic to the Island 

It was long months now since Clarence’s fam- 
ily had moved from the Port, but Delbert had 
always been anxious for a second trip to the Is- 
land in San Moros, being eager to show it to 
Marian and his little sisters. 

Before long Delbert came rushing back. ^‘We 
can go ! We can go ! ” he called. ‘‘ We — where ’s 
Marian ? — oh, there you are. Mr. Cunningham 
says we can have the launch. The man he usu- 
ally sends with it is sick or something, but he 
got Mr. Pearson to take us instead. We can 
start early in the morning. Goody! And say, 
Marian, can’t you fix some dough for dough- 
nuts and let me fry ’em for you.?” 

Marian looked severe. ‘‘Do you remember 
what happened the last time I let you fry dough- 
nuts?” she asked. 

Delbert’s eyes twinkled. “Yes,” he said, “but 
that was learning ; I won’t do it that way now.” 

“Shall we trust him, Jennie?” she asked. 

“ If you don’t, there won’t be any doughnuts 
to-morrow,” Delbert assured her. “Marian has 
not got time to make ’em.” 

“I guess we can this time,” decided Jennie. 

“Me fry doughnuts, too,” said Esther. 

7 


Smuggler’s Island 


“ I am afraid me had better not,” said Marian ; 
*‘but you and Jennie may roll and cut them out 
for Delbert. And Davie, you sit up in your high 
chair and watch sister stir up these doughnuts 
quickly, and then Davie shall make a doughnut 
of his very own. Delbert, put the granite-ware 
kettle on, and the lard is in that pail on the shelf 
there by you. I think there is just enough; put 
it all in.” 

She hurried the ingredients together, and, as 
soon as the dough was ready for rolling out, 
turned it over to the apprentices and ran out 
of the kitchen to the numerous other tasks that 
awaited her. 

‘‘You have n’t read us mamma’s letter yet,” 
called Jennie. 

“Oh, I will read it while we eat supper,” 
Marian answered. 

“What mamma say?” shrilled Esther. 

“ Says they will be back in two weeks,” came 
Marian’s muffled voice from the far bedroom. 

Presently she came back. “Jennie,” she said, 
“do you know what was done with your and 
Esther’s bathing-suits when you came back from 
bathing the other day?” 

8 


A Picnic to the Island 

Jennie looked blank, but Esther answered 
promptly. 

‘'Down to Bobbie’s.’’ 

“ Down at Bobbie’s ? Whatever did you leave 
them there for?” 

“Oh, yes,” cried Jennie, her face brighten- 
ing, “I ’member now. We stopped to play and 
hung ’em on Bobbie’s mother’s clothesline and 
forgot ’em.” 

“Well, that’s a great way to do! Esther, you 
run down after them now.” 

Esther was kneading doughnut dough indus- 
triously. “To-morrow,” she said. 

Marian considered a moment, and then said: 
“No, you go now, it is two days they have been 
there already, and they may have got into some 
corner where Bobbie’s mother won’t know where 
they are, and we won’t have any time to hunt 
for lost things in the morning. It is a long way 
to Smugglers’ Island, and we must get off early 
or we shan’t have time to explore it and get 
back by dark.” 

Esther sighed, and began to clean the dough 
from her little fat hands. “Tell where we go- 
ing?” she asked. 


9 


Smugglers’ Island 


‘‘No; better not.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, because if Bobbie knows we are going 
in the launch, he will want to go, too, and I 
know positively his mamma would n’t let him.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, you little interrogation-point!” expos- 
tulated Marian under her breath. Aloud she an- 
swered patiently, “ Because Bobbie was awfully 
naughty and went in the fishing-boat without 
asking his mamma, and she was so worried about 
him, and when he got back she told him he could 
n’t go anywhere except to school, — not any- 
where, not even up here to play with Delbert, — 
for two whole weeks.” 

“Not two weeks yet?” 

“No, it is not two weeks yet. Now, do go on, 
Esther. Just ask for the bathing-suits and don’t 
make Bobbie feel bad by telling him about a 
picnic he can’t go to.” 

In the morning, before Marian had breakfast 
out of the way, Delbert came in with a rush. 
“I have just seen Mr. Pearson. He is going to 
his breakfast, and he says he is all ready, and 

lO 


A Picnic to the Island 

he wants to know if there is anything you want 
him to do/" 

‘‘Yes/" said Marian; “tell him to get a demi- 
john of water. Mr. Cunningham has a demi- 
john he uses for that, but Mr. Pearson may not 
think of it."" 

“Oh, but there is water on the Island, plenty 
of it.’" 

“Yes, my dear, but it has not been filtered, 
and I don’t want you children drinking any- 
thing and everything. Oh! and did you put 
plenty of water for the chickens, Delbert? — 
and put a big stone in the pan so they can’t tip 
it over? 

“Bread and butter and doughnuts,” she con- 
tinued, “and I must take milk for Davie. Dear 
me! I haven’t enough to fill the jar either. 
Here, Jennie, get a dime from my purse and take 
this pail and run down and see if Bobbie’s 
mother can let me have a quart of milk. If she 
has n’t it to spare, you will have to go to Dona 
Luisa. Delbert, find the hatchet. It will come 
in handy when we come to build a fire for 
noon.” 

“Haven’t you got eggs, Marian? Take some 


II 


Smugglers’ Island 

raw eggs, and we can boil them over a fire; it’s 
lots of fun.” 

^"I’ve only three, Delbert, but if you can, get 
some at Bobbie’s, or ask Fanny’s mother if she 
can spare me some.” 

‘^We can get crabs and clams, you know,” 
said Delbert. ‘‘There’s barrels of ’em. Clarence 
and I had ’em. But take plenty of bread and 
butter, Marian. Mr. Pearson can eat a lot, I 
know.” 

“Yes. Run on now and see about the eggs, 
and then go down and tell Mr. Pearson about 
the water. Let me see,” she continued, — 
“what else? Oh, yes, if we go bathing, I shall 
have to comb my hair.” 

She wrapped up her comb and brush in a 
clean towel, and then, on second thought, tucked 
in a little pocket-mirror and a cake of tar soap 
and two more towels. 

“Marian, me got my spade and pail, but me 
can’t find baby’s,” called Esther. 

“His little pail is here,” answered Marian, 
“but I don’t know where his spade is. Let him 
take the big dig-spoon instead.” A dig-spoon, 
be it known, is a spoon so old and dilapidated 
12 


A Picnic to the Island 

that mother does not mind if the children 
use it to dig in the dirt with. The big dig-spoon 
of the Hadley children was a huge iron af- 
fair about a yard in length that had doubtless 
been originally intended to stir soup in a hotel 
kitchen. 

As they started down the hill on the way to 
the pier, Bobbie's mother ran out to her gate. 
^‘Marian," she called, ‘^are you taking plenty 
of wraps with you? You know it gets cold to- 
ward evening." 

Marian held up a couple of light shoulder 
shawls. ‘^Delbert has his coat," she said, ‘‘and 
Esther and I never want anything around us 
anyway. There are always a couple of blankets 
on the launch seats." 

“Oh, you foolish child," declared the lady; 
“you wait." She ran back into the house, and 
in a moment came back with a very large heavy 
circular cape, “There, you take this," she said. 
“It will cover you and Esther and the baby too. 
Jennie will need both those flimsy shawls. You 
know it won't do to let her get chilled." 

Marian thanked her laughingly and accepted 
the cape. 


13 


Smugglers’ Island 




Mr. Cunningham was down on the pier. He 
was a dapper young man, pleasant and good- 
looking and well liked by everybody at the Port, 
and he held the 
most lucrative and 
responsible posi- 
tion of all the 
Americans there. 

He smiled ^ 

Hadley party 
trailed down the hill , 
and out on the pier, the 
sturdy baby well in the lead. 

‘'Here comes King David 
and his train,” he called. 
“By Jove,” he added, ob- 
serving the huge dig-spoon, 
“ he has his scepter with him 
too. — Good-morning, Miss Marian ; do you 
mean to tell me that basket is full of lunch 
“Not quite,” laughed Marian. “There is a 
hatchet and my workbag and a few other things 
as well.” 

“Workbag!” exclaimed Delbert in disgust. 
“What did you bring that for?” 


MARIAN LAUGHINGLY 
ACCEPTED THE CAPE 


A Picnic to the Island 

^‘Oh, I may hemstitch a little while you chil- 
dren dig in the sand. I shan’t ask you to do any 
sewing, Delbert.” 

As the big basket was being stowed away in 
the launch, Mr. Cunningham said laughingly, 
‘‘If you find you have not enough. Miss Marian, 
there is some canned stuff in the locker you 
are welcome to.” 

“Thank you,” said Marian, “I think we have 
plenty. I have been on trips like this before; 
I know how children eat. Delbert, I forgot to 
put in anything to cook the eggs in. You wanted 
to boil them, and we have n’t a thing.” 

“Use Esther’s pail,” he suggested. 

“It leaks too badly, and baby’s pail is wooden. 
No, if you want those eggs cooked, you will have 
to go back and get something.” 

“There will be the clams, too,” said Delbert, 
starting back across the pier on a trot. 

“Oh, and, Delbert—” 

“What.?” 

“You might bring Jennie’s cape, too, while 
you are there; and, Delbert, Delbert! Be sure 
and lock the door again when you come out.” 

“We ought to have something to bring home 
IS 


Smugglers’ Island 

clams m, too,” she said after a moment, ‘‘but 
he is too far gone now to call back.” 

“There is a big pail here in the boat-house,” 
said Mr. Cunningham, going to get it. 

“ I shan’t be here when you get back,” he said, 
coming back with the pail, “but the launch can 
be turned over to Manuel. I am going up the 
river for a couple of days. I must be getting 
ready now, so I will bid you good-bye and wish 
you a pleasant trip.” 

He shook hands with Marian, pulled Esther’s 
curls, smiled at Jennie, stood the baby on his 
head a moment, and strode off across the pier. 

Soon Delbert came running down the hill 
again, his arms full. 

“’Morning, Mr. Faston,” he called to an old 
gentleman who, with a basket on his arm, was 
starting toward the plaza for his breakfast 
steak. 

“Good-morning, Delbert. Where you all go- 
ing so bright and early 

“Going to Smugglers’ Island.” 

Delbert ran down to the launch and scrambled 
in. “I brought baby’s jacket, too,” he said, 
dumping the wraps, the granite-ware kettle, and 

i6 


A Picnic to the Island 

a little bright new dishpan in a heap at Marian’s 
feet. 

‘‘I see you did, but whatever did you bring 
that dishpan for?” 

‘‘Why, it was sitting out there on the table, 
so I s’posed you forgot it, and I was n’t going 
to be sent back again.” 

Marian laughed. “I had no notion of bring- 
ing it,” she said. “Well, Mr. Pearson, I guess we 
are all ready. You’d better start off before we 
think of something else we might like to take.” 

“Just think, Marian,” said Delbert; “Mr. 
Pearson has not been outside the harbor since 
he has been here.” 

“No? Never been to the Rosalie Group, Mr. 
Pearson?” 

Pearson cleared his throat. “No; when a man 
is busy he don’t get much time for picnics,” he 
said. 

“I am to show him the way,” continued Del- 
bert, “and he is to make the launch go there.” i 

It was a lovely day. The children were fairly 
bubbling over with the glee of it, and Marian 
herself felt unusually gay and light-hearted. 

Mr. Pearson was rather silent. He was a 

17 


Smugglers’ Island 

newcomer to the Port, and Marian had had 
hitherto but a bare speaking acquaintance with 
him. She had an instinctive feeling, however, 
that he considered children as necessary nui- 
sances; so she tried to keep them from annoy- 
ing him too much with their chatter. However, 
though he volunteered no remarks, he answered 
good-naturedly what was said especially to him, 
followed minutely Delbert’s instructions as to 
their direction, and listened with apparent in- 
terest when the little fellow told of trips taken 
with Clarence in the sailboat. 

Outside the shelter of the harbor they encoun- 
tered the high waves of the Gulf, and Davie was 
so frightened that Marian had much ado to keep 
him quiet. Jennie, too, began to feel a few 
qualms of her old enemy, seasickness, so that 
with them both Marian had little chance to ex- 
change sociabilities with Mr. Pearson. 

Leaving the Rosalie Group on their right, 
they turned down the coast bound for San Moros. 

Delbert was entirely unafraid. The higher 
the wave the better it suited him, and he was 
constantly declaring he only wished they were 
going to stay a week. Esther echoed him, as was 

i8 


A Picnic to the Island 

her wont, and Jennie feebly put in a few remarks 
of the same tenor, her feeling in the matter, how- 
ever, being born of a desire to put off the nausea- 
beset homeward trip rather than to prolong the 
picnic joy. 

Finally they rounded the point and entered 
San Moros. Delbert remembered just how 



FOLLOWED MINUTELY DELBERT’S INSTRUCTIONS AS TO THEIR 
DIRECTION 


Clarence had made his way in among the many 
rocks and sandbars, most of which were covered 
at high tide. The Island lay some miles back, 
a crescent in shape, high and rocky at one end 
and running out to a narrow sandy point at the 
other. No one approaching it would have mis- 
trusted it was other than the mainland, for the 
formation was such as to blend it perfectly with 

19 


Smugglers’ Island 

the mainland back of it, and it showed no sign 
of the strip of water between till one was close 
upon it. 

“We landed first by that point of rock,” de- 
clared Delbert, pointing, “and then afterwards 
we took the boat in back of the Island and tied 
her to the pier till we were ready to go home.” 

“ I guess that is a good enough programme to 
follow now,” said Mr. Pearson. “Didn’t you 
say this side was best for crabs ? That ’s a nice- 
looking beach along there, fine for you kids to 
bathe on. We will tie up to those rocks till after 
dinner.” 

“Well, all right,” agreed the boy. “There is a 
path up to the top of the hill, Marian, but it 
does n’t come down on this side. Clarence said 
the smugglers wore it going up to peek over the 
hill to see if any one was coming for ’em.” 

The little point of rock on the seaward side 
of the Island made a very good substitute for a 
pier. They landed there and were able to reach 
the sand without getting their feet wet. Jennie 
declared she felt better as soon as she touched 
shore. 

Delbert was anxious to lead the expedition 


20 


A Picnic to the Island 

over to the other side of the Island, where re- 
mained the signs of former habitation. 

‘‘You can go on over now,’^ said Pearson 
good-naturedly; “I’ll unload the launch and 
take a swim, and if you say there is anything 
there worth looking at I can go over after- 
wards.” 

Delbert hesitated; he was counting on expa- 
tiating on the extent and glory of the ruins and 
preferred a large audience. 

“Why, of course, Delbert,” said Marian; 
“Mr. Pearson can take the launch around after 
dinner. This is the best side for bathing. I am 
not sure,” she added, as the children started off, 
“but after dinner would be soon enough for the 
rest of us, but — ” 

Pearson laughed and shrugged his shoulders. 
“There is no wait in that kid,” he said. 

“I see there isn’t,” said Marian, as she 
started after her eager brother. 

The hill was decidedly rocky and steep, with 
a goodly strip of sandy beach at its base. The 
crabs scurried away as the children ran across 
this. 

“See, Marian!” called Delbert; “see all those 


21 


Smugglers’ Island 

crabs ? We’ll have thera for dinner. Don’t they 
look fat?” 

‘‘Fat and luscious,” laughed Marian. “You 
are fat and luscious, too, baby darling,” she con- 
tinued, catching Davie as he stumbled over a 
stone, “but those qualities alone will never make 
a mountaineer of you.” 

Delbert forged ahead, scrambling over rocks 
and skirting thorny bushes, and the others fol- 
lowed as best they could. 

“I suppose when you get there you will stop 
and wait for us,” called Marian. 

“Oh, yes,” he answered; but he did not take 
the hint and slacken his pace then. 

His bump of locality was good, and although 
it was almost a year since he had been there, he 
made his way directly to the spot on the apex of 
the hill where a faint path led down on the other 
side. Here he paused, and, letting out a series 
of triumphant whoops, announced his arrival 
to his upward-toiling sisters. 

One by one they joined him where he sat on a 
big gray rock, swinging his lariat, his most treas- 
ured possession, a new hair rope given him by 
an old Mexican a few weeks before. 


22 


A Picnic to the Island 

“Dear me/’ said Marian, all out of breath, as 
she set down the baby, whom she had been 
carrying the last part of the way; “whatever 
did you expect to lasso here, Delbert? Crabs?” 

“No,” he replied, “burros! Didn’t you 
know there were burros here? There’s a herd of 
’em. Clarence said probably the smugglers had 
to leave in a hurry and could n’t stop to round 
up everything they had. Anyway, there’s bur- 
ros here. Yes, and pigs, too. We saw their 
tracks ; we did n’t see them, but Clarence said 
when he was here the first time he heard ’em 
grunting in the bushes.” 

Marian was examining the surroundings. “I 
believe Clarence was right,” she said. “That 
is a real path certainly, but there is not a sign of 
it on the seaward side of the hill. Whoever lived 
down there used to come up here to this rock. 
You can see away out into the gulf from here, 
ever so many miles, but it is so bushy that no 
one here would ever be seen.” 

“Yes,” assented Delbert; “Clarence called 
this Lookout Rock. Farther back this hill 
spreads out into a mesa} It’s several miles long. 

‘ Pronounced m^sa ; a small tableland. 

23 


Smugglers’ Island 

Clarence said there were deer here, too; he saw 
’em.” 

‘‘An’ wil’ cats?” queried Esther. 

“No,” said Delbert. “I remember when we 
camped here it was awful quiet at night, and I 
asked Clarence if he s’posed there were any pan- 
thers here, and he said no, he had n’t seen a sign 
of any such thing here, and he guessed if there 
ever had been, the smugglers had killed them all 
off.” 

“That is not unlikely,” said Marian; “but 
the burros and pigs must have come from what 
they had ; perhaps the deer, too, — they might 
have had some for pets. But, come, if we have 
our breath now, children, we ’d better go down; 
for see, Mr. Pearson has the launch unloaded 
already, and there is dinner to get when we get 
back.” 

So they followed the twisting trail downward. 
It was very faint, in some places entirely oblit- 
erated, yet taken as a whole was distinct. 

Between the Island and the mainland lay a 
strait that was deep enough for even large 
steamers, though there was little of San Moros 
that a big steamer could have ridden safely over. 

24 


A Picnic to the Island 

A little rough rock pier had been built here. 

And Clarence said the fellow that built it under- 
stood his business, too,” declared Delbert, em- 
phatically. ‘‘He said it was a good job; but 
come and look at the bananas,” he continued, 
leading the way. 

The Island, which elsewhere presented such 
rough, not to say precipitous, sides, here was 
level or nearly so. A house had once stood there. 
The mound of its ruins was unmistakable. In 
one place a forked timber stuck up ; on one side 
was a pile of other timbers overgrown with 
weeds and shrubbery. There was a spring, too, 
that had had some sort of masonry cover, 
broken now, but with a tiny pool of water at 
the bottom of the rocks. There were the remains 
of an old stone wall that had once surrounded 
a garden, of which only a thick, matted banana- 
patch was left. 

A banana plant grows to maturity, produces 
one bunch of bananas, and then dies. During 
the time it is doing this a number of young 
plants spring up about the parent stalk, and 
each of these produces its one bunch of fruit and 
group of little ones, which in turn go through 
25 


Smugglers’ Island 

the same process. It will be readily seen, there- 
fore, that, with no one to trim out the old stalks 
and superfluous young ones, a banana-patch 
would in the course of time become a very 
crowded place, indeed. 

This was just what had happened to the 
Smugglers’ Island patch. How long it had been 
left uncared-for no one could tell, but it was 
now an impenetrable jungle. 

Marian and the children walked all round it, 
looking for bananas, but except for several 
bunches from which the birds had eaten the 
fruit, leaving the blackened skins dangling, they 
saw only one, and that was too high up for them 
to reach. It did not look very tempting, any- 
way. A little beyond were a few fan palms, but 
this kind of palm bears no fruit. 

Marian sat near the site of the old house, 
while the children rummaged about and ex- 
plored. This was certainly an ideal place in 
which to hide from the world, a sunny little spot, 
sheltered and secluded, for the hill hid the place 
from the seaward view, and across the narrow 
strait lay only the rocky, thorny tangle of the 
uninhabited hill of the mainland, with not even 
26 


A Picnic to the Island 

an Indian ranch for miles and miles, Clarence 
had said. Marian wondered what chance or 
incident had caused the abandonment of the 
place. 

Presently she rose. 

‘‘Come, children,’" she called, “we were 
going to catch crabs for dinner, you know. We 
must be going back.” 

So they went back up the dim little path to 
Lookout Rock and began to pick their way down 
from there as best they could. 

“Why, Marian,” called Delbert, “Mr. Pear- 
son has moved the launch. It is not by the 
rocks now. Where’s he gone?” 

Marian glanced up. 

“ I guess he thought we were pretty long in 
coming and has gone exploring on his own 
hook,” she said. 

“I’ll see,” said Delbert, and he went out to 
where he could see the water all around the end 
of the Island and in to the little pier. 

“No,” he said, as he came back, “he has not 
gone round there.” 

They went on down the hill. 

“I don’t see why he should move it,” per- 
27 


Smugglers’ Island 

sisted Delbert. ‘‘That is the best place for it 
on this side of the Island, and this is the best 
beach for bathing.” 

They went over to where the things were 
piled up. Pearson had dumped them all to- 
gether and thrown one of the launch blankets 



over them; and on top of this a note was pinned 
with two wooden splinters. 

Marian took it off and read it, and then stood 
looking at it for several seconds. 

“Delbert,” she said quietly, “did you know of 
any trouble between Mr. Pearson and Mr. Cun- 
ningham.?” 

“Trouble?” repeated the boy, startled, — 
28 


A Picnic to the Island 

‘‘trouble? Why — why, no, — not — not trou- 
ble. Why?’’ 

“Because,” said Marian, still quietly, “Mr. 
Pearson has stolen the launch and gone away 
and left us here.” 


CHAPTER II 

FOR 'SHELTER IN A STORM 

Delbert stared with wide eyes for a moment ; 
then he snatched the note from Marian’s hand 
to read for himself. He was not much accus- 
tomed to reading writing, but this was very 
plainly written with a purple indelible pencil on 
a leaf torn from a pocket memorandum-book. 

Miss Marian, — 

Boss Cunningham has done me plenty of dirt 
and now he is going to regret it just one gasolene 
launch. Sorry to inconvenience a lady and all 
that, but the kids want to stay overnight anyway, 

Delbert looked up again into his sister’s face; 
then, dropping the note, he sped across the sand 
and up the hillside to where he could get a good 
view of the Gulf beyond the bay. 

Marian picked up the note, and still stood 
looking at it. 

‘‘How we get home.^” inquired Esther. 

That was precisely the question that was rac- 
ing round in Marian’s brain. 

30 


For Shelter in a Storm 

‘'I don’t know — yet,” she said. 

Slowly she took off the blanket that was 
thrown over the things. The other blanket was 
there, too, and all of their things, also the five- 
gallon demijohn of filtered water and a tin box 
of crackers, nearly full, three cans of corn, and 
a quart can of tomatoes. She remembered Mr. 
Cunningham had said there were some eatables 
in the locker. 

A big crab came slowly up and regarded them. 
Marian returned his look gravely. ‘"Yes,” she 
said, ‘‘I see you are there, and we may thank 
our stars you are there, too, you and your rela- 
tions.” 

"‘W-won’t Mr. Pearson come back?” faltered 
Jennie. 

‘'I am afraid not,” answered Marian. 

‘'But — but what shall we do?” 

Marian reached down into her boots, where 
her heart had sunk, and pulled up a smile by 
main force and put it on her lips. A connoisseur 
in smiles would have known at a glance that it 
never grew there of its own accord, but Jennie 
was only eight and was not versed in artificial 
smiles. 


31 


Smugglers’ Island 

“Well, my dear,” said the big sister, “we 
can’t walk back and we can’t swim back, so I 
guess we shall just have to Robinson Crusoe it 
here till some one comes after us. When they 
find we don’t come home, they will hunt for us, 
of course. See here,” she added, briskly, pull- 
ing out the big pail Mr. Cunningham had lent 
them for clams, “you children take this pail and 
get some crabs. I will build a fire, and we will 
have dinner right away before anything else 
awful happens to us.” 

The children, reassured by her tone and smile, 
took the pail and trotted off down the beach. 
They had caught crabs on the little beaches of 
the Rosalies and understood the business. Even 
Davie got a stick and landed a few. 

Marian gathered some sticks and built a fire 
in the shade of a big rock. She had it well started 
when Delbert came back to her. 

“I can see something black away out in the 
Gulf ; probably it is him,” he said. 

“ Probably,” she answered. 

They brought the things up to the fire and 
began to unpack the basket. 

“I don’t see why he did it!” finally burst 

32 


For Shelter in a Storm 

forth Delbert with clouded face and quivering 
lips. 

^"Well/’ said Marian quietly, “he evidently 
was a different kind of man from what we 
supposed. There are a few such people in the 
world.’^ 

“But, Marian, no one knows where we are. 
They would n’t know where to look for us if 
they were hunting for us.” 

“No, but I have been thinking, probably Mr. 
Pearson does n’t know that. What did you say 
to him last night.?” 

“Nothing. Mr. Cunningham did the talking. 
He just called and asked him if he could go out 
with a party in the launch to-day, and he said 
yes and came over and asked who was going, 
and when Mr. Cunningham told him, he asked 
what time we should want him. It was this 
morning he asked me if I knew the way, because 
he had never been out to any of the islands, he 
said.” 

“Did you tell Mr. Cunningham where we 
were going.?” 

Delbert thought a moment. “No; I just 
asked could we have the launch for all day.” 

33 


Smugglers’ Island 

‘‘And you did n’t tell Bobbie or any of the 
other children?” 

“No; I did n’t see any of them last night, and 
not to talk to this morning. When I went for 
the milk, I just said we were going in the launch. 
But Bobbie’s mother knew we were going; she 
brought out the cape to you.” 

“Yes, but she did n’t know where. I never 
thought to mention it to any one. When you 
came back with Jennie’s cape, you told Mr. 
Faston we were going to Smugglers’ Island, but 
unless some of them remember hearing Clarence 
tell of it they won’t know where Smugglers’ 
Island is.” 

Delbert shook his head. “Clarence did n’t 
tell about it to any one but his folks and us. We 
had it for a secret. Why, Marian, they won’t 
know at all where to look for us!” 

“No,” replied Marian steadily; “it was an 
awfully mean trick for Mr. Pearson to serve us, 
even without counting the stealing of the launch, 
but you see, Delbert, Mr. Pearson supposes 
every one knows where Smugglers’ Island is. 
He heard what you said to Mr. Faston, and, 
besides that, I ’ve been thinking, and there was 
34 


For Shelter in a Storm 

not a single thing said on the way out this morn- 
ing that would have led him to suppose we were 
the only ones that knew about the place. We 
talked about my never having been here before, 
but not a word but what other people knew. He 
supposes of course everybody knows, and that 
when we do not come home to-night they will 
come straight here in the morning.” 

“But they won’t,” said the boy. “When we 
don’t come home they will think we are camp- 
ing over. They won’t know till Mr. Cunning- 
ham gets back that we were coming home to- 
night, and he is not coming back for two days.” 

“Oh, they will all know I would n’t have taken 
you children out camping with only Mr. Pear- 
son along; besides Bobbie’s mother knows we 
did n’t take any bedding along, and even if 
she did n’t, she would know that if we had in- 
tended to be gone overnight you would have 
asked Bobbie to take care of the chickens.” 

“Well, an3^ay, what if they do know we 
meant to be back? They don’t know where we 
are. Hunting the Rosalie Group over won’t 
find us.” Then he smiled a little grimly. “Do 
you know, Marian, it will be the chickens that 
35 


Smugglers’ Island 

will tell them about it? They won’t worry 
about us to-night; they will s’pose, of course, we 
will get in all right; but in the morning all our 
chickens and old Peter Duck and Madam 
Waddle and the whole brood of ’em will simply 
swoop down when Bobbie goes to feed his chick- 
ens. Then they will begin to investigate. That’s 
all the good it will do them; they won’t ‘find us,” 
he concluded moodily. 

‘"Marian,” he burst forth presently, unable 
in his nervous state to put up with his sister’s 
silence, — “Marian, what do you think?” 

“Delbert,” she answered, pausing in her work 
and looking up at him, “the biggest thing in 
my mind just now is that bunch of bananas we 
saw over on the other side.” 

Delbert’s eyes roved over the provisions be- 
fore him. “How long will this last us?” he in- 
quired. 

“Well, I planned it for perhaps two meals for 
six people; as it happens, there are only five to 
eat it, and we have Mr. Cunningham’s eatables 
as well, you remember,” — she gave a little 
laugh. “You remember he said we were wel- 
come to them, if we did n’t have enough of ours.” 

36 


For Shelter in a Storm ' 

‘‘Huh! I should think so. You bet Mr. Cun- 
ningham would never do a dirty trick like that. 
We — we can starve here for all Pearson knows 
or cares.’" 

Marian put down the kettle and went to her 
brother, with his flushed face and flashing eyes 
winking back the tears. She drew the slender 
little form into her arms close and tipped up the 
handsome, quivering little face. 

“Delbert boy, darling,” she said softly, “we 
are not going to starve. The children might if 
you and I were not here, but we are here ; there 
are clams and crabs for the gathering, and I know 
a boy who, with his jack-knife, can make a trap 
that will catch quail, and I once knew him to 
kill a rabbit with a bow and arrow.” 

“Yes, and you scolded me for it, too,” he said. 

“I did. We didn’t need that bunny rabbit 
at all, but these babies are going to need feeding, 
and we shall have to feed them with whatever 
we can get, rabbits or what. And we can take 
care of them, Delbert, you and I, till somebody 
comes. We will do it in spite of Mr. Pearson.” 

“Pearson!” said the boy fiercely; “he can just 
go to — to blazes.” 


37 


Smugglers’ Island 

Marian leaned down and kissed him. "‘No, 
dear,” she said lightly, “but he may go to some 
other port and let the police catch him and send 
him and the launch back to Mr. Cunningham.” 

The boy laughed chokily and, twining his 
arms about his sister’s waist, held her closely 
while she stroked his hair. 

“No, darling,” she said presently, “we will 
not worry. You and I can do a lot of things; you 
will see. Now, here come the girls with the crabs. 
We must n’t let them be frightened.” 

Delbert straightened up. “How many did you 
get?” he called, and Marian smiled at the easy 
cheerfulness of his tone. 

“Oh, you will do,” she said approvingly, “you 
will do.” 

While she cooked and prepared the crabs, 
she sent the children off after clams. Under 
Clarence’s tuition Delbert had become quite an 
expert at finding clams, and fortunately they 
were plentiful. Marian, poor child, wondered 
how long one could live on an exclusive diet of 
crabs and clams before getting utterly sick and 
tired of them. 

She decided to put everybody on a rather 
38 


For Shelter in a Storm 

short allowance of bread, so as to make it last 
longer and explained it to them when she called 
them up to eat. They did not mind; they pre- 
ferred crabs anyway. 

‘‘Marian,’" said Delbert, “I can’t think of a 
thing between Mr. Pearson and Mr. Cunning- 
ham, except that Mr. Cunningham did n’t like 
his work when he first came and discharged him 
from the shop. But he has been working some- 
where else ever since ; that need n’t have made 
him mad.” 

“Probably there is something that we don’t 
know about,” she said. 

“Well,” he persisted, “I bet Mr. Cunning- 
ham did n’t know about it either. He would n’t 
have sent him out with us if he had n’t thought 
he was all right. There was a fishline and hooks, 
too, in the locker,” he continued. “Did you 
see anything of them, Marian?” 

She shook her head. “He only left us the crack- 
ers and canned stuff — oh, and a box of matches, 
and I had another one in our basket.” 

“How many fires can we build with them?” 
he asked. 

“A good many, but we don’t need to use them ; 
39 


Smugglers’ Island 

we can keep live coals over from one time to an- 
other, as papa does in the fireplace winters. That 
is what we’ll do and use the matches only when 
we really have to. On a sunshiny day I could 
light a fire with the crystal from my watch.” 

They had never heard of such a thing, and 
Jennie and Esther wanted her to take if off and 
show them how at once. 

Marian declined. “We have a fire now,” 
she said. “The thing for us to do is never to let 
it go out, day or night. If it goes out in spite of 
us, because of something we cannot help, then 
we can build one some other way.” 

“Don’t people on desert islands build signal 
fires?” asked Delbert. 

“Yes, and put out flags of distress, too. We 
could n’t keep a fire going all night, but we could 
put up one of the towels or the tablecloth day- 
times, and we can build our fire nights where it 
can be seen out at sea. And I think about the 
first thing we’d better do is to get up a wood- 
pile.” 

That was an easy task. There was much 
driftwood along the beach, besides the sticks 
that could be gathered from the hillside; and the 
40 


For Shelter in a Storm 

children enjoyed gathering it up, and Marian 
would have also if she had not been inwardly so 
perplexed and worried. 

To add to her worries, the sky turned cloudy 
and the wind rose. Suppose it were to storm, and 
she with not even a tent to shelter these little 
ones! 

‘‘Delbert,” she asked, finally, “isn’t there a 
cave on this Island.^” 

“Sure,” he answered; “right down here a 
way. Let ’s go see.” 

Marian’s hopes rose, only to fall again when 
she viewed the cave. It stood barely above high 
tide, a dark hole, foul and ill-smelling from the 
myriads of bats that lived in it. 

“Dear me!” she said, “we can’t sleep in this, 
Delbert. Besides, if a storm should come up, 
the water would wash right in.” 

“It goes back a long way,” said Delbert. 
“Clarence and I went in with a torch, but the 
farther you go the smellier it gets. Phew! No, 
I should say we could n’t sleep in it. If it ’s a 
cave to sleep in that you want, I guess we shall 
have to hunt one up.” 

So they climbed back up the hill and began 

41 


Smugglers’ Island 

an investigation of the big masses of rock which 
at that end of the Island looked as if some giant 
hand had tossed them up and they had since 
lain in the same wild confusion in which they 
fell. 

It would be very strange, thought Marian, if 
some sort of shelter could not be found among 
these. But she had no luck. Several places she 
discovered that would have been ideal in pleas- 
ant weather, an overhanging rock to keep off 
the dew, or a thick, dry, mossy bed, but when 
wind and rain were to be considered — 

Finally Delbert called to her from a point 
farther up than she had yet gone. 

‘‘O Marian, here is a sort of a crack; maybe 
it would do.” 

She scrambled over the intervening rocks and 
surveyed the ‘‘crack,” and though it was far 
from being what she wanted, she saw at once 
that it was the best place they had yet found. 

It might, perhaps, have been called a minia- 
ture cave. It was not high enough to stand up 
in, but extended back some ten or twelve feet, 
growing smaller and smaller, till at its extreme 
end it was not more than a foot in height. Its 
42 


For Shelter in a Storm 

width was about the same as its depth. A few 
feet away from the opening rose another rock, a 
smooth-faced, gigantic mass that would keep 
the worst of the wind and rain away from the 
mouth of the cave, or crack, as Delbert called it. 

‘‘I believe it is the best we can do,^’ she said. 
“We could at least keep dry and warm in there. 
All the other places would be good only in good 
weather. We’ll get some sticks and poke around 
and see if there are any snakes or anything.” 

Delbert promptly followed the suggestion. 
He crept in and punched and poked most indus- 
triously and raked and scraped with energy, but 
could start nothing, and he declared there did 
not seem to be any cracks leading any farther 
back. 

“That’s all right, then,” said Marian. “I 
did n’t want to dispute the right of way with 
any snakes or centipedes. Now we’d better go 
down to the bananas and get a lot of dried ba- 
nana leaves to help out our bed.” 

This they did, gathering an enormous bundle 
and tying it with the lariat rope. Then Marian 
slung it over her shoulder and so with a very 
little assistance conveyed it to the Cave. 

43 


Smugglers’ Island 

By this time it was getting late in the after- 
noon. The sun had disappeared completely from 
the gray sky, and the wind had risen so that 
there was no doubt at all about the approach of 
a storm. 

‘‘We must bring everything up,” decided 
Marian. “Everything must come under shelter 
here right away. We must not leave even the 
dig-spoon down on the beach.” She was seized 
with a nervous dread of the water, which was 
already rolling in higher than usual. 

The little feet got tired of going up and down 
the rocky hillside, but Marian and Delbert per- 
severed till everything, even the wood they had 
gathered, was safe at the Cave. Then Marian 
arranged things as best she could for the night. 
She packed their belongings, so that they would 
be some shelter for the bed of banana leaves and 
blessed Bobbie’s mother for the big cape, which, 
with Jennie’s pinned to it, would serve as a third 
blanket. Then she built a fire back of the big 
rock that sheltered the mouth of their cave bed- 
room, and cooked the clams for their supper. 

The children huddled together by the fire. 
They were enjoying the experience. Marian was 
44 


For Shelter in a Storm 

big; she would take care of them; and it is fun to 
cuddle down behind a big rock and watch your 
supper cook over a dancing camp-fire. 



After supper Marian carefully packed a solid 
chunk of wood in a bed of coals, covered these 
with ashes and dirt, and piled little rocks over 
them to protect them from the rain that she felt 
sure would come in abundantly before morning. 
45 


Smugglers’ Island 

She kept a fire going for light, as they had no 
lamp or lantern of any description. 

The children were tired and willing to go to 
bed after they had eaten, and Marian herself 
was fully ready to lie down after she had got 
them all packed away. She slept, too, for a 
while, but when the storm came it wakened her, 
and there was no more sleep for her all that long, 
long night. 

The roar of the sea was terrific ; the big waves 
were sweeping in from the sea and breaking on 
the beach with thundering crashes. The flashes 
of the lightning were intense, and the thunder 
seemed to Marian to shake the very earth. She 
had thought they would be protected from the 
wind, but it seemed to sweep over them with 
perfect freedom. She shivered and shrank closer 
to the children. Davie was next to her. He 
seemed to be warm and comfortable and he 
slept peacefully in all that pandemonium. Poor 
little chap, he had been all worn out climbing 
up and down the hill and chasing crabs on the 
beach. The others woke, and Marian anxiously 
inquired if they were all warm. Delbert said 
his feet were cold, but aside from that all were 
46 


For Shelter in a Storm 

fairly comfortable. Crowded in together as they 
were, they kept one another warm. 

But they were frightened, and no wonder ! The 
storm outside was a regular tempest, and they 
were cooped in that little hole, sheltered from 
the rain, indeed, but exposed to everything else. 

They were afraid the rock roof would fall and 
crush them, that the lightning would strike 
them, and Jennie was afraid the water would 
wash up to where they were. 

Marian knew there was no danger of the first 
and no probable danger of the second, and she 
knew they were far beyond the reach of any- 
thing less than an actual tidal wave that might 
engulf the whole Island. 

She soothed and reassured them by every 
argument she could think of, and then she sang 
to them all the songs she could call up that 
might tend to reassure the shrinking human 
spirit at such a time, beginning with 

‘‘The Lord’s our Rock; in Him we hide, 

A shelter in the time of storm”; 

and finishing with a rollicking glee with a rous- 
ing chorus that announced that 
47 


Smugglers’ Island 

“ We ’re all right, all safe and tight, 

Let ’er howl, Bill, let ’er howl!” 

And indeed ‘‘she” was howling outside so furi- 
ously that it was only because Marian’s lips were 
so close to their ears that they could hear her 
songs at all. 

Some time along toward morning the thunder 
and lightning ceased, and though the rain still 
came down in a steady pour, the wind still 
blew, and the waves still thundered on the 
beach, one by one the children dropped off to 
sleep. Marian did not. She lay there in a 
cramped, uncomfortable position, for to change 
it meant to get out from under the covering and 
expose the children to more of the cold wind. 
She wondered where Pearson was passing the 
night. How she longed for morning, yet when 
it came it brought little enough of relief. The 
worst fury of the storm seemed to be over, but 
the wind was still high and there was some rain. 

Marian’s carefully banked fire was utterly 
drenched and washed away, and she had to light 
a new one with a precious match. She built it 
under shelter of the Cave, and then the smoke 
nearly drove them out into the storm. 

48 


For Shelter in a Storm 

There was some of the clam soup left from 
supper, and, reinforcing it with one of Mr. Cun- 
ningham’s cans of corn, she was able to fill them 
all up with a hot breakfast. 

They could not see anything because of the 
big rock in front of the Cave, and to go out past 
the range of it meant to be drenched, or at least 
dampened, and every one but Davie could see 
that that would not do. The little girls could 
stand up in the wider part of the Cave, but 
when Delbert forgot himself and tried it he got 
such a bump that he fairly cried with the pain. 

Marian smoothed up their bed and packed the 
food back into the basket, and then racked her 
brain for methods of amusement. There was 
not much that could be done, but they played 
a few simple little games that could be played 
while sitting still, and really, all things consid- 
ered, got on marvelously well. 

In the afternoon there was a cessation of wind 
and rain for a while, so that they did venture 
out a little, but Marian was so fearful of their 
getting their clothes damp that it was not much 
diversion, after all. Of course, every tree was 
loaded with drops of water that the slightest 
49 


Smugglers’ Island 

shake released, and the ground under foot was 
soaked and running in little rivulets. 

The second night was only less miserable than 
the first. There was no storm to frighten them, 
and they slept more, but they were colder and 
more uncomfortable when they were awake, 
which was really a good deal of the time, after 
all. By morning the wind had died down and 
the sun was struggling to break through the 
remaining clouds. 

When Bobbie went to feed his chickens on 
the evening of the day the launch party went 
out, his little round, freckled face wore an un- 
usually sober expression. As he tossed out the 
handfuls of corn, he gazed out over the waters 
regretfully. The way of the transgressor is hard 
certainly, but only the last part of the way, the 
first part is most remarkably easy. He had been 
down on the pier that fateful morning with his 
mother’s full knowledge and consent, — noth- 
ing wrong in that, — and when the fishing- 
boat was ready, the men had said, Come along, 
Bobbie,” and ‘‘Come, jump in if you want to, 
kid,” and there was no time to go and ask his 
SO 


For Shelter in a Storm 

mother; they would not have waited for him if 
he had ; even his mother admitted that. There 
was no time to go and ask, so he had gone with- 
out asking, and see what he had had to suffer on 
account of it. One whole week already with no 
diversions besides school and errands, and an- 
other, dreary with monotony, stretching ahead 
of him. 

To-day had been worst of all, with the Hadley 
house closed and silent, and Bobbie knew they 
would have asked him to go with them if it had 
not been for that ill-fated fishing-trip. 

He heaved a sigh and flung out the last ker- 
nels, and then, as many of Delbert’s chickens 
were hungrily helping themselves and the launch 
was not yet in sight, he went over to the Hadley 
yard, climbed through the shed window, and 
measured out the amount of corn he knew Del- 
bert always fed his flock. After he had given 
it to the eager biddies, he went back home, and 
a little later, when he ran out to shut up his 
own, he went over and closed Delbert’s coop 
also, first carefully counting the inmates, as he 
knew Delbert always did. When he found one 
was missing, he searched till he found the silly 
SI 


Smugglers’ Island 

thing perched on a barrel in the yard, a tempting 
meal for coyotes, and, hustling the misguided 
fowl into the coop, closed the door securely. 
It was a service that he and Delbert performed 
for each other so often that he did not even 
mention the matter to his mother, and she, busy 
with her household tasks, gave the launch party 
scarcely a thought, and supposed, of course, it 
came home on time. 

The storm was the worst the Port had known 
for years. Bobbie might have saved himself the 
trouble of closing the coops so carefully, for 
both were blown to pieces, and numbers of the 
chickens of each were drowned. People had no 
thought or time to spare for chickens and their 
coops. Roofs were sent flying, and many a wall 
had to be braced and watched through the wild 
night. While Bobbie’s mother hurried to and 
fro, moving things out from under the leaks in 
the roof, quieting her frightened children, and 
keeping general watch and ward, she thought of 
the Hadleys and spoke of them to her husband. 

"‘Marian’s kitchen roof is probably leaking 
like a sieve,” she said, “but I guess the rest of 
the house is all right.” 


52 


For Shelter in a Storm 

“Yes,” he answered, “I was just thinking it 
was lucky Hadley fixed things up so well before 
he left. As it is, it is the safest house in town.” 

“Dear me!” cried the lady suddenly, discov- 
ering a stream of water coming down in a corner 
hitherto considered safe and dry, “I only wish 
ours was. Half the things I have will be utterly 
ruined if this keeps up.” 

“And it is going to keep up all right,” was the 
consoling reply of her husband. 

In the gray morning, when the storm abated 
and men in waterproofs began to venture out 
and take stock of the damage done and com- 
pare notes, it was discovered that the launch had 
not come back; that while frailer shelters had 
gone crashing down, compelling their inmates 
to flee through the storm to other shelters, the 
“safest house in town” had stood untenanted 
and alone. 

When Mr. and Mrs. Hadley, hurried back 
from Guaymas by the awful news, reached the 
Port, every foot of the Rosalie Group had been 
searched over. On one had been found a child’s 
handkerchief beaten into the sand. They gave 
S3 


Smugglers’ Island 

it to Mrs. Hadley, and she looked at it a mo- 
ment silently. Just a ragged, soiled little thing 
it was, with a faint trace of what had once been 
a picture printed in bright colors. 

“It’s Esther’s,” said the mother, and she put 
it away, the most sacred of her treasures. As a 
matter of fact, it was not Esther’s at all, — 
Esther had hers with her at that moment, — 
but the grimy little rag was taken for evidence 
indisputable that the launch party had been on 
that particular island. 

Over and over the boats went out and searched. 
All of the Rosalies, all of the esteros and marshy 
mud flats for many miles were gone carefully 
over, not, indeed, with any hope now of discov- 
ering the lost ones, but for some trace, some 
■ sign, something washed from the wreck. 

When Mr. Cunningham returned, he declared 
himself completely mystified. He knew the 
launch was in perfect condition when it went 
out that morning, for he had examined it him- 
self; and he knew Pearson was in every way 
competent to run it. There had been plenty of 
warning of the oncoming of the storm, plenty 
of time to have returned in safety. 

54 


For Shelter in a Storm 

But the launch did not return; it had gone 
out into the blue, and the blue had swallowed it 
entirely. The waves lapped, lapped on the rocks 
and little beaches, the seabirds swooped and 
called to one another, and in time even the gray- 
haired father gave up the search, and he and 
his quiet, sweet-faced wife packed up all their 
belongings and left the scene of their terrible 
sorrow. 

Only one person had advanced any theory 
other than that the launch party had been in 
some way wrecked and lost in the storm. One 
man had suggested that perhaps Marian and 
Pearson had eloped, — an idea that caused more 
than a few smiles even at that time, for an elop- 
ing couple would have been so likely to take 
the lady’s four small brothers and sisters with 
them. Just how any accident could have occurred 
was a mystery, but that one had happened no 
one doubted. 

Old Mr. Faston had, indeed, told of Delbert’s 
remark to him that they were going to Smug- 
glers’ Island, but Bobbie and the other children 
told of playing pirate and smuggler on a sandbar 
of one of the Rosalies, and the childish game was, 
55 


Smugglers’ Island 

of course, thought to be the reason of Delbert’s 
statement. 

So time passed. The Hadleys had gone from 
the Port, Delbert’s chickens were added to 
Bobbie’s flock, a Mexican family moved into 
^‘the safest house in town,” Mr. Cunningham 
bought a new launch, and, so far as the Port 
was concerned, the incident was closed. 


CHAPTER III 


COMMISSARY MATTERS 

But for Marian in the midst of her hungry, 
grimy little flock the incident was far from closed. 
Indeed, it was only begun. 

When their food was all gone but the can of 
tomatoes and a part of the crackers, she made up 
her mind that nothing but accidental help could 
be looked for. No one, not even her parents, 
knew anything about Smugglers’ Island, and 
probably they were thought to have perished 
in the storm. Perhaps Mr. Pearson had been 
swamped and drowned. In the course of time 
some one would come into San Moros for some- 
thing, — Indians hunting turtles maybe, — but 
it might be long months before they saw a hu- 
man being besides themselves. There was no 
one to rely upon but themselves ; whatever was 
done they must do themselves. 

Looking at the cluster of towsled heads, Mar- 
ian set her teeth together and clenched her 
hands tightly. The fierce protective spirit of 
57 


Smugglers’ Island 

motherhood swept over her. They were hers, 
these little ones ; come what would, they should 
not perish, they should be fed, sheltered, cared 
for. They should have their child’s rights of 
tender love and happiness. Esther, running up 
just then, was caught in a close embrace and 
kissed fervently. 

The Cave afforded the best shelter for night 
that they could find. As soon as things were 
dried up a little from the storm, Marian set 
about improving it somewhat. For tools she 
had only the hatchet, Esther’s spade, the dig- 
spoon, and Delbert’s knife and lariat. 

With the hatchet she cut sticks and brush 
and with the lariat dragged them up to the 
Cave, where she and Delbert made them as 
best they could into a sort of roof for the space 
between the Cave and the big rock in front. 
It was crude work, of course, but it gave shade 
and to some extent served as a wind-break, at 
least. It was just high enough to stand up under. 

A place to cook over was soon made of a few 
rocks, and then Marian turned her attention to 
the securing of food other than crabs and clams. 
First there was the banana-patch. Not finding 
S8 


Commissary Matters 

any good way of reaching up to the bunch they 
found there, they cut the stalk it was on, first 
looking carefully to see that there was no other 
bunch on the same stalk. Later on they learned 
that each stalk bears but a single bunch any- 
way. 

Unquestionably those were the worst bananas 
that Marian had ever seen in her life. Not only 
was the fruit small and dwarfed, but about half 
of each banana was a dry, brown pith, while 
what remained was very far from being good. 
But they were food, and Marian conveyed that 
bunch of bananas to the Cave with the greatest 
of care. 

Then with the hatchet and knife they cut 
down a great many other stalks and dragged 
them out of the way, so that they could get 
about in the patch and see what was there. It 
was not the pleasantest work in the world, for 
they had to keep a sharp lookout for ugly, crawl- 
ing things. They found, however, several other 
sickly-looking bunches and quite a number of 
birds’ nests. These last Marian was careful to 
leave undisturbed. 

Delbert was anxious to fly a signal flag, and 
59 


Smugglers’ Island 

as Marian was wearing an extra petticoat, she 
decided to dedicate it to that purpose. 

But it was a question where was the best place 
to fly it. There were no very tall trees, and no 
place where it did not seem to her that a flag 
would blend with the background. She had 
really very little hope of its doing any good, but 
she did not suggest that to the children. 

At last they picked out a tree and, after con- 
siderable discussion as to ways and means and 
several ineffectual attempts, finally succeeded 
in attaching the white skirt to one of the higher 
branches, where Delbert was sure it would be 
seen if any one chanced into San Moros. 

Delbert was continually mourning that they 
had no fishhooks and lines. He and Bobbie had 
been famous fishers, — in their own estimations, 
at least, — and he was quite sure that if he only 
had a hook and line he would be able to haul out 
innumerable fish from the quiet water about the 
little rock pier. Marian searched through their 
belongings and not a hook could she find, and all 
her thread was rather fine. But though crabs and 
clams were good, it took a great many of them 
to satisfy five people three times a day, and it 
6o 


Commissary Matters 

took more time to prepare them than Marian 
wanted to spend. She declared that she would 
not open the can of tomatoes till they were 
actually starving and could not get anything 
else, and she put them on an allowance of one 
cracker apiece each meal. Davie often howled 
for more, but Marian resolutely put them where 
he could not get them for himself, and his lusty 
wails availed him nothing. 

A few quail occasionally wandered into Del- 
bert’s traps and from there into Marian’s kettle, 
but Marian was not content, and one day she 
braided her hair in two braids down her back 
and tried her hand at making fishhooks out of 
her wire hairpins. She had not brought her 
shears with her, but in her bag was a pair of 
little buttonhole scissors that could be made to 
serve as plyers, perhaps, and her pretty pearl- 
handled penknife had a nail-file on one blade. 
She could not put barbs on her hooks, but she 
could sharpen them with the file. As one hair- 
pin by itself was not strong enough, she straight- 
ened out three and bound them tightly together 
with embroidery silk. 

After working faithfully all her spare time, 

6i 


Smugglers’ Island 

one day she finished a hook that she and Delbert 
were both sure would work. Then came the 
question of a line. 

‘‘Delbert,” she said, “quite a while ago was 
n’t Bobbie’s Uncle Jim teaching you boys how 
to braid round whiplashes ? Yes.? Well, do you 
remember now how he did it .? ” 

“I guess I do,” said the boy slowly; “but you 
have n’t got near enough thread to make a line 
strong enough to amount to shucks. That col- 
ored silk would be all right, but you’ve got only 
a teenty bit of that:” 

Marian smiled. “Why is your rope better than 
a common one?” she asked him. 

“’Cause it’s hair and it won’t rot and wear 
out like the fiber ones.” 

Marian was unbraiding one of the long braids 
that hung over her shoulder and with the scis- 
sors she snipped out here and there, where it 
would not show, quite a number of tresses. 

“Here,” she said, “you get busy now and 
let’s see if you know how to braid a nice, smooth, 
round line, and then you can show me how, too.” 

“O Marian, your pretty, pretty hair!” 

“Yes, I know; it has been my pretty hair all 
62 


Commissary Matters 

my life, and it’s high time it was useful as well 
as ornamental.” 

But it took a long time to braid the line, and 
food had to be secured meantime. Food ! — that 
was the main topic of conversation, — to find 
clams, to get big crabs, to make traps and set 
and watch them afterwards. Never a fish was 
sighted but they wondered if it was good to eat ; 
never a bird flew over but they discussed wheth- 
er or not it would cook up tender. Delbert used 
to go twice a day, at least, to look over his traps. 
Simple things they were, made of sticks fastened 
together with strips of rag torn from the towel 
that had been wrapped around the bread, and 
afterwards of the fibrous stems of the banana 
leaves. Every day he saw rabbits, and one day 
he threw a stone that hit one on the head and 
stunned it, and he despatched it with his knife. 
He did not seem to mind killing the things that 
got into his traps, and Marian was glad he did 
not, since it had to be done. 

It was after the rabbit incident that the little 
boy came in one day from making the round of 
the traps, holding by the tail a good-sized rattle- 
snake. 


63 


Smugglers’ Island 

"‘Mercy!” cried Marian, “how did you kill 
that?” 

“With sticks and stones,” he answered. “He 
was right there in the path by my last trap, and 
I settled his hash in a jiffy. Say, Marian, he 
looks nice and fat. Bobbie’s Uncle Jim says they 
are as good eating as eel.” 

Marian gasped, “ Snakes 1” But the clams were 
getting scarce in the immediate vicinity, and she 
had even begun to imagine that the crabs were 
not quite so plentiful on the little sand-beaches. 

“The history says,” continued Delbert, “that 
when the Spaniards were conquering this coun- 
try and South America, sometimes when parties 
were sent out to go to places and got lost and 
wandered around, they had to eat roots and 
snakes and toads.” 

Marian was thinking she had certainly heard 
of people eating rattlesnakes and — well — 
“All right,” she said, turning away to the con- 
struction of the fishline, “you skin it, Delbert, 
and I’ll cook it.” 

The filtered water in the demijohn did not 
last very long, of course, and when it was gone 
Marian marshaled all hands to clean out the 
64 


Commissary Matters 

spring. She usually marshaled all hands when 
there was anything to be done, because some- 
how she could not bear to have any of the chil- 
dren out of her sight for any length of time. 
When they were with her she knew they were 
safe. True, there seemed to be little danger of 
any kind, save that they were surrounded with 
plenty of water to drown in, and there was no 
knowing how many more rattlesnakes the Is- 
land might possibly contain. 

She had hoped that when she got the stones 
cleared away the spring would reveal itself as 
something extra good in the way of water-sup- 
ply, but it did not. Indeed, she was reluctantly 
forced to the conclusion that it was no spring at 
all, only a shallow little well. 

In the rainy season the water falling on these 
islands sinks into the sand and stays there. One 
could find fresh water any time by digging at a 
little distance back from the beach, where the 
sand lay in hills and hollows, and Marian con- 
cluded that the only reason why the water came 
to the surface in that particular spot was because 
it was situated in a decided depression of the 
ground. 


6S 


Smugglers’ Island 

So she dug and scooped till she had a hole 
with about a foot of water in it, and then she 
smoothed the sides and laid rocks so the sandy 
soil should not cave in. From the tracks abound- 
ing in the vicinity she concluded that the deer 
and burros both were accustomed to drink there, 
and while she was willing that they should con- 
tinue to do so, she did not want them poking 
their noses into the very pool that she must dip 
from for her little flock; so she made a cover with 
some sticks and pieces of driftwood and some 
stones to keep them in place, and then, to be 
still surer, she hollowed out another place for 
her four-footed neighbors. The old dig-spoon 
and the little spade were her chief tools in these 
labors. 

‘‘Dear me! Delbert,” she said playfully, “why 
did n’t we have sense enough to bring a hoe and 
shovel with us?” 

“ Huh ! ” he retorted gloomily, “ if we had had 
any sense we’d have stayed at home.” 

“There may be something in that too,” she 
answered. 

“I know what I could do if you had brought 
your shears,” spoke up Jennie. 

66 


Commissary Matters 

“What, dear?’" 

“I’d cut a thing from this,” holding up the 
piece of tin cut from the end of one of the cans 
of corn, “that Delbert could spear fish with.” 

Delbert stared at her a minute, and then with 
one of his nervously quick movements possessed 
himself of the ragged bit of tin. 

Marian had opened the can with his knife. 
He looked at it a moment and spoke excitedly. 
“We could! It would n’t be like a regular spear- 
head, but we could catch ’em. I know just how 
the Indians throw them. Bobbie has one, but 
he’s never caught anything yet.” 

The idea was certainly worth trying. Marian 
would not ruin her precious buttonhole scissors 
cutting tin with them, but she scratched the 
pattern in the bit of tin and then went over it 
with the tip of the butcher-knife, denting it; and 
the dents, made deeper and deeper, finally be- 
came holes, and then soon there was her spear- 
head, such as it was, needing only to be smoothed 
up a little and filed and bound on the end of a 
smooth, slender stick that Delbert had been pre- 
paring. 

Marian split the end of the stick a little and 

67 


Smugglers’ Island 

slipped in the bit of tin and bound the stick with 
thread that she had doubled and twisted till it 
was strong enough to suit her, then tied the 
lariat rope to the other end of the stick. 

Delbert spent the next day in exercising the 
new tool. His patience was certainly marvelous. 
Hour after hour went by with no success, but 
he was sure he would be successful some other 
time. 

‘‘I’ll get on to it after a while,” he said, as 
they ate their supper of hot clam soup. “Those 
Indians at the Port catch them right along.” 

“The thread will soon rot out,” said Marian. 
“I ought to have wire to wrap the end with; 
copper wire would be best. There are two hair- 
pins left, but they are so short I can’t fix them, 
I’m afraid.” 

It was fully a week afterwards before it 
dawned upon her that she had in the edge of her 
hat-brim a nice piece of copper wire that just 
filled the bill, and though its removal left the 
brim rather droopy, that was a small matter. 

Their supper they always ate at the Cave, as 
the light of their fire could be seen far out from 
there; but breakfasts and dinners were usually 
68 


Commissary Matters 

eaten down on the beach to save the trouble of 
carrying food and water up the hill. Marian 
had built a second place for cooking down in the 
shadow of the big rocks where they had eaten 
their first dinner on the Island, and the children 
had dug a well in a hollow of the sand not far 
off, which they used, although the water did not 
seem to be so good as that on the other side of 
the Island, having more of a salty flavor. 

As Marian was carefully dipping water from 
the beach well one morning, Jennie and Esther 
came running to her in great excitement. 

‘‘O Marian, come quick! The High-Tide Pool 
is full of fish, and Delbert is going to spear them 
all!’^ 

This was interesting, certainly. The High- 
Tide Pool was down quite a way from where 
they had the well and the cooking-place. It was 
beyond the sandy beach, where the rocks ran 
down into the water. When the tide was high 
it had considerable depth, and ran back into a 
little cave among the rocks, but at low tide the 
water was only two or three feet deep in its 
deepest part, which was in the cave. 

Sometimes they had seen a few little fish in it 

69 


Smugglers’ Island 

before, but that morning the little girls had gone 
down and found it well stocked. 

Probably just as the tide was going out, a 
great number had taken refuge there. Perhaps 
some enemy was lurking outside and they dared 
not leave the safe retreat, and now they could 
not leave it till high tide came again. 

Delbert was spearing industriously when 
Marian got there. He had actually caught one, 
and it flapped feebly on the rocks beside him. 

As his sister came up, he triumphantly called 
her attention to it. 

"‘See that? Told you I could spear fish! But 
they all want to hide back there in the cave. I 
tell you, Marian, I ’ll go in there and drive them 
out, and you can stand here and spear them. 
We ’ll just keep spearing and spearing till the 
tide comes in and the rest get away. I bet we 
can get enough for several days. We can dry 
’em as the Mexicans do.” 

He handed her the spear and began hastily 
to disrobe. Delbert’s movements were always 
hasty. 

Marian began casting the spear unsuccess- 
fully, but when Delbert got into the pool he 
70 


Commissary Matters 

created such a commotion that several of the 
fish in their wild endeavor to escape, flopped clear 



MARIAN HAD BEEN CASTING THE SPEAR UNSUCCESSFULLY WHEN 
DELBERT GOT INTO THE POOL 


out on the bare rocks and were easily captured. 
By that time a better idea had come to Marian. 

Delbert,” she cried, ""come out now, wipe 
up on my apron and get back into your clothes. 
We have enough for breakfast and dinner, too.” 

71 


Smugglers’ Island 

‘‘Oh, but we want all we can get,” he called 
back. “We can dry ’em, I tell you, and as soon 
as the tide is high again they will all get away.” 

“That’s all right, but listen! I have a scheme 
for keeping them all. This is too good a thing to 
let the tide take away from us. Why, there must 
be fish enough in there to last us a week at least, 
maybe two. See, Delbert, we must build some 
kind of a fence across, so they can’t get away 
when high tide does come. Then we can come 
every day and get what we want till they are all 
gone.” 

Delbert splashed right out without more re- 
marks. 

“We can do it with rocks and sticks and 
brush,” she continued. “It won’t be possible 
to drive stakes in the ground here, because 
it is n’t ground, — it is all rock, — but we can 
make them stand firm by piling rocks around 
them.” 

She went to work systematically. She set the 
children to bringing rocks, while she and Del- 
bert cut the stakes and brush up on the hillside 
and dragged them down with the rope. Then, 
selecting the place where she could accomplish 
72 


Commissary Matters 

her purpose with the least labor, she set a row 
of stakes a little way apart, piling rocks about 
each one till it was quite firm and solid, and then 
began weaving in brush. 

It was a long task. Trip after trip she made 
up the hillside with the rope and hatchet, and 
her face and hands were scratched with the 
thorny brush. The children grew tired of help- 
ing, and Davie was crying because he was hun- 
gry, for Marian would not stop to prepare food. 
She dared not. In that little pool was food, 
food. If she could shut the way across before 
the tide came in, then she and her little ones 
were safe without question for some time to 
come; if not — ‘‘Why, Delbert,” she said, “we 
might live here for years before we should have 
such a chance again.” 

Finally she sent him up to start a fire and 
clean the fish they had got before they began 
the fence, and when he had them in the kettle 
over the flames he returned to help her. There- 
after she would occasionally send up the little 
girls to put on more wood or to pour a little more 
water into the kettle, but she herself kept at 
the task. 


73 


Smugglers' Island 

Marian did thorough work; she dared not 
slight it in a single place; it must be strong 
enough to resist the force of the waves, and it 
must be so solid that no fish of any considerable 
size could get through, and she dared not stop, 
she dared not stop. The tide began creeping 
back over the rocks, and she sent the children 
back for more brush and sticks, and more still, 
and went herself again, and still again, and now 
the water was running over into the pool again, 
and still she worked. She knew how high up on 
the rocks it would be when the tide was at its 
full height, and she must get above that. She 
had done the work well so far, yet it would all be 
in vain if she did not get above high-water mark. 

Finally she finished it with the water waist- 
deep around her, and as she dragged herself out, 
it seemed as if she had never been so tired in all 
her life before, but she was sure that her work 
was done well. Tired and hungry and smarting 
from scratches and the thorns she* had not had 
time to remove, she was yet happy. For the 
first time since Pearson’s treachery had left 
them stranded there, she felt a firm foundation 
under her feet. 


74 


Commissary Matters 

In spite of the little girls’ care the fire had 
gone out under the kettle and the fish were not 
done. They were not very trustworthy as cooks 
yet, but Marian started things going again and 
sent Jennie up to the Cave for a blanket and 
some safety-pins and a needle from her workbag. 

When she came back, Marian removed her 
wet clothing and donned the blanket in its stead, 
pinning it in place with the safety-pins, and then 
proceeded to extract thorns with the needle. 
Delbert also required some of the same surgical 
attention. Then, as soon as the fish were done, 
they broke their fast, and afterwards she took 
Davie and lay down in the shadow of a rock to 
sleep, secure in the knowledge that there were 
fish enough in the kettle for one more meal and 
that there were plenty more where they came 
from. 

The fencing-in of High-Tide Pool certainly 
marked a new period in the life on the Island. 
It was the first work of any size, and its comple- 
tion gave assurance of food for many days to 
come without spending all their time in the se- 
curing of it. 

Afterwards Marian bent her energies on the 

75 


Smugglers’ Island 

fishline to the exclusion of everything else till it 
was finished. It took the two extra hairpins to 
fasten the hook and line together satisfactorily, 
but Marian did not grudge hairpins nor time nor 
labor when she saw how eager the fish of High- 
Tide Pool seemed to be to attach themselves to 
that amateurish-looking implement. She thought 
the fence she had built probably served, to some 
extent, to screen out the smaller fish that would 
otherwise have provided breakfasts and lunch- 
eons for those she had imprisoned. At any 
rate, their appetites seemed to be excellent, any- 
thing was acceptable as bait, and Delbert was 
now and then successful in spearing one. 

They worked another day on the banana- 
patch, thinning it out and letting in the sunlight, 
and another in dragging more brush up to the 
Cave to shade and shelter it, and in carrying 
up more dried banana leaves for their bed. 

Then Marian said she was ready to go on an 
exploring expedition. 

So far they had gone no great way from the 
end of the Island where they had landed, but 
now she decided the time had come to learn 
more of their locality. Some of the bananas were 
76 


Commissary Matters 

ripe; that is, they were soft and could be eaten. 
They could take them along for lunch. 

Delbert was a little afraid some one might 
come while they were gone, but Marian had a 
lead-pencil in her workbag and with it she wrote 
on a smooth piece of driftwood a brief account 
of their predicament which she left in a prom- 
inent position near the tree their signal flag 
flapped on. To make assurance doubly sure, they 
put another signal flag by the side of the notice. 

Not being sure they could find water on all 
parts of the Island, Marian thought it would be 
safest to carry some with them, but the only 
thing she had to carry it in was the two-quart 
Mason jar that had held Davie’s milk. They 
would take Mr. Cunningham’s pail, too, and 
the spear and lariat and hatchet. It seemed to 
Marian that that was all they would need, but 
Davie was very sure the dig-spoon would be 
indispensable, so he carried that also. 

They went along on top of the hill where Del- 
bert had set his traps. It was very rocky at 
first, but became more even and level, with fewer 
rocks, and more open and grassy. There was an 
abundance of thorny brush, but no trees of any 
77 


Smugglers’ Island 

size worth mentioning. This portion of the Is- 
land they used afterwards to refer to as the pas- 
ture. Beyond it the thorny tangle became 
thicker again, and here were more rocks. In- 
deed, the farther end of the Island fell quite 
precipitously to the water without any sandy 
beaches, but they could make their way down 
well enough, and most of the way could follow 
the shoreline without wading. 

The Island was fairly uniform in shape, and 
it looked to Marian as if it had been broken as a 
whole from the mainland ages back, the sides 
there being very steep and precipitous, as was 
the shore of the mainland opposite. The little 
harbor did not seem to extend very far, and no 
vessel of any size could have picked her way 
through behind the Island. 

The seaward side contained various little bays 
and coves, very fascinating to explore, but only 
one of these was of any size. This lay in such a 
relation to the tides and currents that it gath- 
ered more of the flotsam and jetsam of the sea 
than any or all of the others, and when its treas- 
ure possibilities were realized it was named 
Bonanza Cove. 


78 


Commissary Matters 

These details were not all learned in one day’s 
exploration, but little by little as day after day 
they searched and learned. 

Always supreme above all other motives was 
the search for food. 

Every plant or root or berry that they knew 
to be edible they eagerly seized upon, and Mar- 
ian was constantly warning them lest they grow 
careless in their selection and suffer thereby. 

One day they found the burros all down by 
the water-hole on the landlocked side of the 
Island. They had seen them before, about a 
dozen in number, but had not paid much atten- 
tion to them. They were grazing peacefully 
on the outskirts of the banana-patch, and the 
children were quick to notice that the herd had 
been increased by one in the last day or two, 
a silky-looking little fellow with that peculiarly 
fascinating quality that only a baby burro has. 

In glee they ran toward them, but though the 
burros seemed to be not at all wild, they plainly 
did not mean to permit any actual handling 
and skillfully evaded all attempts in that direc- 
tion. After several ineffective attempts to round 
up the woolly baby, the children stopped to rest 
79 


Smugglers’ Island 

and regain their breath, and the four-legged infant 
sidled up to his mother and proceeded to lunch. 

Suddenly Marian turned to her brother. Del- 
bert,” she said, “can you lasso that old burro as 
she stands there?” 

“Reckon I could if I tried. What do you want 
of her?” 

“ See that baby there fairly guzzling down the 
milk, and look at our baby here without a spoon- 
ful all these days. Don’t you suppose that old 
mother burro has more than that little fellow 
really needs in his business ? An 3 rway, if he had 
to go a little short he could make it up on grass.” 

“O — oh!” ejaculated the boy, “burro’s milk? 
Why, Marian, it would n’t be good.” 

“Indeed, my dear child, burro’s milk is a 
regular article of commerce in some places, just 
as cow’s and goat’s milk is in others.” 

“Anyway,” reflected Delbert, “if we didn't 
tell him, Davie would n’t know but what it was 
all right. Milk is milk to him; he wouldn’t 
care.” 

“Of course not,” said Marian briskly; “you 
older children might object to it, but it won’t 
make any difference to him whether he shares 
8o 


Commissary Matters 

with a baby burro or a baby calf. You just get 
a good loop over her head, and we’ll try this 
thing out.” 

As a matter of fact, getting a loop over the 
mother’s head was the easiest part of the busi- 
ness. Delbert soon accomplished that, but Ma- 



GETTING A LOOP OVER THE MOTHER’S HEAD WAS THE EASIEST 
PART OF THE BUSINESS 


dam Burro had no intention whatever of stand- 
ing still and being milked. Indeed, she developed 
quite surprising activity, and it was only after 
at least an hour of patient labor that Marian 
was able to secure a few spoonfuls of milk in the 
tin cup which the little girls brought down from 
the Cave. 

“Now, then,” said Marian, “the thing we 
have got to do is to secure the baby. If we keep 

8i 


Smugglers’ Island 

him tied here, his mother will stay around, and 
we can try her again in the morning. But if he is 
turned loose with her, we may not be able to get 
near them again.” 

“ But we have only one rope, and if I take it 
off her she will take him right away now,” said 
Delbert. ‘'Let’s keep her tied up, I should say.” 

“Well, tie her up till morning. Then we can 
think of some other way to do. It will not do to 
keep her tied all the time, for then we should 
have to feed her.” 

As they ate supper they discussed ways and 
means. They could make palm-leaf ropes that 
would do very well to tie the little one with, but 
that did not seem to be as convenient as Marian 
wanted. Finally they decided to make a little 
corral to keep the baby in. Then he could nibble 
at weeds and grass and could not reach his mo- 
ther except when Marian chose, and she could 
thus have a better chance to secure a ration for 
Davie. The corral would have to be pretty solid 
and secure, she thought, or the old burro might 
tear it down ; still, it would not have to be quite 
as compact as the fence that had been built at 
High-Tide Pool. 


82 


Commissary Matters 

They went to work at it the next morning. A 
little of the old stone wall was still solid enough 
to serve, but most of it was badly tumbled down, 
and they could not seem to do much at building 
it up again. The banana-patch could be used 
as one side, — it was so thick nothing would try 
to go through it, — and a couple of palms could 
be utilized as fence-posts. There were several 



JACKIE 


nondescript bushes that could be worked in too. 
The banana stalks they had already cut down 
could be used as building-material, and more 
could be cut. They were soft and thornless, 
which was an advantage; also every stalk they 
cut out improved the patch by giving those 
remaining a better chance to grow and mature 

83 


Smugglers’ Island 

fruit. The hatchet was getting pretty dull, but 
Marian managed to hack off a number of slen- 
der stakes, which she set in the ground in pairs 
just far enough apart to lay a banana stalk in 
between ; and these stalks all averaged about the 
same size and were piled one above the other to 
the top of the stakes, which were then tied to- 
gether with banana-leaf stems. 

The old pile of poles was overhauled. Part of 
them were so worm-eaten that they fell apart in 
Marian’s hands, but some were of a different 
kind of wood and were still solid. These were 
built into the fence as children build corncob 
houses, and Marian was only sorry there were 
so few of them. For part of it they used brush, 
but that was not so easily handled as the bana- 
nas or poles because of the thorns. The corral 
was not finished in one day nor in two, and when 
it was finished it showed half a dozen styles of 
fence-pattern and had no particular shape, but 
was, nevertheless, very satisfactory, as it would 
hold the little one in and keep the old one out. 

The little burro was easily driven into it, and 
then the old one was turned loose. She grazed 
about during the day, and when milking-time 
84 


Commissary Matters 

came Delbert could easily lasso her. Then, with 
much labor and great tying of legs and an abun- 
dance of help from the children in holding of the 
same, Marian would get Davie’s little portion of 
milk. Then the four-legged baby was allowed 
to have what remained, after which he was 
engineered back into the corral. 

In the morning the same performance was 
gone through. During the day the mother and 
baby could rub noses through that part of the 
corral that had been made of poles, and in the 
course of time they both became so tame that 
the little one was a pet and a playmate for 
the children and the old one offered but little 
objection to sharing with Davie, who used to sit 
on the top rail of the fence and watch the milk- 
ing with wide eyes that let no detail of the per- 
formance escape him. 

He was very generous, too, considering the 
small amount of milk he received, and would 
offer to share with the others; they would all 
take a sip, even Marian, to encourage his unself- 
ish impulses, and, as Delbert said, for polite- 
ness’ sake. 


CHAPTER IV 

BONANZA COVE 

It was about the time that the corral was fin- 
ished that they came to realize that they had 
lost count of the days and really did not know 
how long they had been on the Island. They 
had even lost track of the day of the week, and 
Marion did not know when she had ever done 
that in her life before. She and Delbert sat down 
and figured and figured, trying to count back 
and remember what had been done on each day; 
but it was no use, it had been too long. Jennie, 
however, was quite ^ure that it was Wednesday 
then, though she could not tell why, — she just 
thought it was, that was all, — and so, assum- 
ing that she was correct in her belief, Marian 
easily figured up what day of the month it was 
then, for of course she knew the day and date 
upon which they had left home. 

‘^Now,” she said, “we will not trust to our 
memories any more. Every day I will put a 
notch in a stick,’’ — which she faithfully did, 

86 


Bonanza Cove 


using for the purpose a smooth stick that Del- 
bert picked up on the beach one day. As a mat- 
ter of fact, Jennie had been mistaken and they 
were two days ahead of time, but they did not 
know that till afterwards. 

The days were filled pretty full. Marian 
thought that the busier they were, the less would 
they be a prey to loneliness and homesickness. 
They tumbled out of the Cave mornings, milked 
the burro, got breakfast, and then worked 
awhile at something till it was time for a big 
sea bath. 

When they first began their life on the Island, 
Delbert was the only one who could swim to 
amount to anything. Clarence had taught him, 
and he had been a very apt pupil; but the others 
knew so little of the useful art that Marian her- 
self dared not venture beyond her depth, while 
the little girls declined water that was more than 
knee-deep and Davie preferred it even less than 
that. But already there was a vast improve- 
ment among them all. As the way to learn to 
walk is to get up and walk, so the way to learn 
to swim is to strike out and swim, and they were 
following that method. 

87 


Smugglers’ Island 


After dinner there were walks to take, little 
coves to examine, or ropes to braid. Marian 
watched over the children with eyes of a most 
jealous, brooding love. Never had they seemed 
so dear to her, never so sweet and precious. She 
was constantly thinking up things to amuse as 
well as benefit them. Of course, she could not 
perform impossibilities, and there were some 
doleful days. There was one perfectly awful 
day when she found Jennie huddled down be- 
hind a rock, crying for her mother. And Delbert 
would sit for an hour at a time on Lookout Rock, 
gazing out over the water, so wistful and discon- 
solate that it made Marian’s throat choke up 
just to see him, and she would rack her brain for 
some interesting thing to set him at to keep 
him busy. 

But it is only fair to say that the doleful spots 
came far less often than one would have sup- 
posed they would. Marian was always stead- 
fast in her assurance that some one would find 
them some day. They would take good care of 
each other and be as happy as they could till 
some one should come and take them back to 
the Port. And she herself always kept a cheerful 
88 


Bonanza Cove 


face. Her loving voice and sunny smile, her 
merry little ways, inspired confidence. As 
much as possible she made it appear that a des- 
ert-island experience was a very desirable thing 
to have happen to one. She twisted things till 
they looked like a joke, and in the process often 
found herself growing as light-hearted as she 
wanted the children to be. 

The bill of fare was limited, to be sure, but 
they brought to it appetites sharpened by the 
constant exercise they were taking in the sea air 
and the sunshine. 

One day up in the pasture they ran across a 
panal} This is the nest of a kind of wild bee 
and is made of the same material that our hor- 
nets use in constructing their homes, but the bee 
itself is not so large as a hornet. Marian saw 
the nest first and pointed it out to the other 
children merely as a matter of curiosity, but 
Delbert straightway became excited. 

There was honey in that bees’ nest; he knew 
it ; splendid honey. Had n’t Clarence bought 
some once of an Indian and given him a lot.^^ 

1 Pronounced pah-nahV ; plural, pah-nah'-layss. It is the 
regular Spanish word for honeycomb. 

89 


Smugglers’ Island 


And Clarence had told him all about panales. 
You take all the outside honey and comb away 
and leave the core, and they will build on again, 
just as tame bees will. 

Marian was a little dubious. Honey was all 
very well, but stings were not at all desirable. 
How were they to proceed to get the sweet store ? 

‘‘We have no bee-smoker,” she reminded him, 
“and if we had, there are no rags to be burned 
in it.” 

“Huh!” declared Delbert scornfully, “do you 
s’pose the Indians have smokers } — or rags 
either? No, sirree! they just build a fire of trash 
they gather up. Besides, the stings of these little 
bees don’t amount to shucks!” 

It was not in Marian’s policy to discourage 
him from doing anything not actually dangerous 
to life and limb, and she was glad he was willing 
to dare the stings; so she said they would go 
back to the Cave for the little dishpan and 
some coals to start a smudge with, and see what 
they could do. 

The younger children were to keep back out 
of the danger zone, — which they were very 
willing to do, for they did not share Delbert’s 
90 


Bonanza Cove 


optimism about the trifling nature of wild-bee 
stings, — and she and Delbert swathed their 
hands and faces as well as they could and still 
be able to work handily. They built three little 
fires about the bush the nest was in, and gath- 
ered trash and piled it on till they were all smok- 
ing finely. With a forked pole Marian raked one 
of them as nearly under the nest as she could, 
and then, holding her skirts carefully so that 
they should not swing into the fire, she began 
the task of robbing the little bees. 

Delbert held the pan, and she cut off layer 
after layer of the paper-like comb filled with the 
clear sweet liquid, but she was careful to leave 
a goodly portion at the center for the bees to 
begin on anew. Then they retreated with their 
booty, threw a towel over it, and gave it to 
Jennie and Esther to carry off, while they raked 
back and stamped out the fires and threw dirt 
over the ashes, so that they could not start up 
again. 

During the whole performance both of them 
had received stings, but, as Delbert said, they 
did not amount to much, and certainly honey 
never tasted sweeter. 


91 


Smugglers’ Island 

From then on the children’s eyes were al- 
ways open for panales. They found two small 
nests that they decided to let alone till they 



were larger, and about a week later they found 
one down near the shore that yielded even more 
honey than the first. They got several stings, 
too, and Marian smiled grimly as she reflected 
how necessity was teaching them hardihood. 

92 


Bonanza Cove 


That was the day they discovered the riches 
of Bonanza Cove. 

They had never gone down into it before, 
having always skirted it quite a way up on the 
hill, for there was no sand at that part, only 
ragged rocks with broken shells and barnacles, 
interspersed with occasional clumps of mango 
bushes, — certainly not easy ground for little 
feet to run over. But this day, as they were re- 
turning home with the little dishpan of luscious 
sweetness, Esther had declared, ‘‘I see a bottle’’; 
and on the strength of that declaration they 
climbed down into the cove, for a bottle would 
be a very valuable thing to have. And, once 
there, they found so many valuable things that 
they gathered up a load and carried it home and 
went back in the afternoon for more. 

The bottle proved to be a quart beer-bottle 
that some one had doubtless tossed, corked but 
empty, over some steamer’s side, and careful 
search revealed six others, besides the remains 
of several that had been broken. Marian hailed 
them with delight. Now they could carry water 
in bottles when they went exploring, and leave 
her precious glass jar safe at the Cave. She 
93 


Smugglers’ Island 


had always been afraid it would get broken on 
some of those trips. Five of the seven bottles 
were only pints, but were none the less eagerly 
welcomed and treasured. 

Also there was discovered in a clump of 
mango bushes, half buried in the mud, an old 
broken five-gallon demijohn. The basketwork en- 
closing it was nearly intact, and Marian thought 
they might use it for something some time. 

The wreck of an old barrel was also rescued 
from the mud. Only three of its staves were 
gone. Who knew what might not some time be 
done with what remained? Several rusty tin 
cans were acquired. Marian could mend them 
by drawing a tiny rag through the holes in them ; 
and Esther came up with a piece of scrap iron 
that might be made into a spear-head if a body 
only knew how; Delbert knew Clarence could 
have done it all right. They found three little 
boards, too, and an old shoe whose top was not 
yet stiff. Besides all this, there were innumer- 
able armloads of driftwood. They gathered it 
up into piles beyond the reach of high tides. 

But the most exciting discovery of all was the 
remains of an old canoe. One side and a goodly 
94 


Bonanza Cove 


portion of the bottom were gone, but it was un- 
deniably a canoe. It had been tossed up on the 
rocks by some storm and had lain bleaching in 
the sun ever since. Nothing would do but Del- 
bert must get that old fragment into the water. 
They all caught his enthusiasm and worked with 
a will. 

The canoe was of native manufacture, having 
been hollowed out from one big log, and what 
was left of it seemed to be quite solid. After 
they had it floating they hunted up poles and 
practiced the art of navigation for a while. It 
was a clumsy thing, and of course everybody 
connected with it got wet, but already Delbert 
had visions of what it might lead to. 

‘'Marian,'’ he said, “let’s pile a lot of that 
wood on this and take it around that way. It 
will be a lot easier than carrying it over.” 

“The waves are too high,” she objected, “and 
we should have to tie the wood on good and 
solid, for the way this thing dips and tips and 
turns it would all be off before we were out of the 
cove.” 

“The waves are high,” he conceded, “and, 
of course, we should have to tie the wood on. 

95 


Smugglers’ Island 

This thing won’t stay anywhere. What’s left of 
it knows it used to be the side and it does n’t 
understand that it is the bottom now.” 

‘‘I’ll tell you,” she said; “let’s wait till to- 
morrow. Maybe the wind will not pile the 
waves quite so high then, and we can tie your 
rope to it. See there is the hole in the prow they 
made to moor it by, and we can tow it round, if 
you like. That is splendid wood and it will cer- 
tainly be easier getting it home that way than 
carrying it up over the hill.” 

But Delbert was not quite satisfied. 

“I’ll tell you,” he said; “if we can get it 
around the point there, we can take it the other 
way, in back of the Island. It ’s a lot longer way, 
but there are no breakers in there.” 

“I guess we could do it that way all right. 
So let’s go back now and braid palm-leaf ropes 
the rest of to-day, so as to have plenty to tie 
the wood with, and hunt up some nice poles and 
paddles ; and to-morrow early we will come and 
take this gallant bark round into harbor.” 

So they beached it again, and piled stones in 
it so it could not get away, and then went back 
to the home end of the Island. 

96 


Bonanza Cove 

Mexicans make a very good rope of twisted 
palm-leaves, but our islanders had not learned 
how yet, and so braided them instead, for even 
the children could do that. For a large rope they 
simply took three of the small ones and braided 
them together. The finished articles were very 
knobby, uneven affairs, of course, and could not 
be used to lasso with, but they were flexible 
and strong and served to tie things. They had 
quite a number of these ropes of home manu- 
facture. 

In the morning, after attending to the burro 
and eating a breakfast of fish baked in the hot 
coals, they filled the two big bottles and three of 
the little ones with water, tied stout little palm- 
leaf strings to them, so that each person could 
easily carry one, and started out with their ropes 
and poles. 

Marian had Mr. Cunningham’s pail with more 
fish for their dinner, and the hatchet also, and 
Davie as usual flourished the dig-spoon. He 
soon got tired of carrying his bottle of water and 
passed it over to Marian, who put it into the 
pail. 

At the cove they put the pail and their bot- 

97 


Smugglers’ Island 

ties into a clump of mango bushes and began to 
gather up the best and biggest of the wood. 
Marian made compact bundles of it and lashed 
them as best she could to what remained of the 
old canoe. Alone it would not stay in any posi- 
tion that made it navigable, but reinforced by 
the bundles of wood on what Delbert called the 
‘‘absent” side of the craft, it floated as any 
other mass of wooden wreckage would have 
floated and maintained an equilibrium which 
allowed the children to perch on top in safety. 

Delbert scratched his head. 

“This is n’t a canoe and it is n’t a raft. What 
in creation is it, anyway, Marian?” 

“I reckon it’s a float,” she answered. 

So, after the pail had been placed on the safest 
spot, where it would not get water splashed 
into it, and after Jennie had received explicit 
instructions to watch over it, the voyage began. 
They had taken the precaution to put on their 
bathing-suits and expected to do as much wad- 
ing and swimming as anything else. 

Marian knew a good deal about rowing and 
sailing a boat, but this was a different matter. 
To begin with, they had only one really good 


Bonanza Cove 


pole. The other was too short, besides being 
crooked, and their craft swung round and 
twisted and did its best to wobble its way back 
to the beach. At last, however, they got out 
quite a way, beyond the depth of the shortest 



THE VOYAGE BEGAN 


pole, but when they came^to round the point 
there was trouble again. Finally Marian jumped 
off and, half swimming, half wading to shore 
with the lariat, towed them round the point; 
and then, because they made better progress 
that way, accomplished most of the rest of the 
journey so. 

Davie also preferred to do most of his trav- 
eling on his own feet, and Marian did not blame 
him, for the float did not even look like a safe 
craft, and the way it wobbled and bobbed might 
99 


Smugglers’ Island 

well have made an older passenger than Davie 
uneasy. So he trudged on, mostly in the edge of 
the water, now and then whimpering when he 



hurt his bare toes and again laughing gleefully 
at some treasure of the sea which the fates cast 
at his feet. 

At some places it was not convenient to tow 
the float, and then they resorted to poling alto- 
gether. At one or two points Delbert took the 
rope and swam across to a better place for pull- 
ing. And several times the bundles of wood 
became loosened, and all hands had to retire to 
shore till Marian could get them satisfactorily 
retied. 

Altogether, their progress was so slow that 


lOO 


Bonanza Cove 


the day was nearly done before they moored their 
gallant craft to the little rock pier behind the 
Island. 

Next day they tried it another way. They 
took all the wood off and allowed the old frag- 
ment to turn turtle. That did a great deal bet- 
ter in some ways, but it was a little difficult to 
get aboard of it. Once they were aboard, how- 
ever, it sustained the weight of them all well 
enough, though, of course, there was no free- 
board at all, and, while it was willing to remain 
in that position, the ends of the canoe, being well 
under water, offered considerable resistance and 
made it more difficult to pole than a boat or raft 
would have been. 

Jennie thought Marian had better cut off 
those ragged ends and leave only the smooth 
side, but Marian was not anxious to attempt 
such a task as that with only a dull hatchet and 
a few knives to work with. Besides, she was not 
sure at all but she would some day want those 
ends right where they were. She could not 
think of any way of improving it, and even as 
it was it enlarged the horizon of their daily 
lives. 

lOI 


Smugglers’ Island 

The prow being under water, they could not 
very well use the hole in it to tie the rope to, 
but at one place in the bottom there was a knot- 
hole, and Marian firmly wedged a stick into that. 
With a rope fastened to this stick they could tie 
the canoe where it would float out quite a little 
distance from shore, and then they could swim 
out to it. She soon found her little flock were 
improving in their swimming lessons. With the 
old canoe at hand it did not matter so much if 
one did get beyond one’s depth a little ; it gave 
one security. 

Then pretty soon, when they began to get 
the knack of making the old thing move along 
in the water where they wanted it to, they would 
go out to the little sandbars and reefs that had 
before been beyond their reach. 

Some of these had mango bushes where a 
certain variety of small oyster attached them- 
selves to the stems and rocks, where they could 
be easily gathered at low tide. One had an out- 
cropping of rock in one place which had several 
basin-like depressions, which Marian cleaned 
out and made use of. She would boil down sea- 
water in her kettle, till it was about a saturated 


102 


Bonanza Cove 


solution, and then put it into the demijohn, and 
when that was full would take it over and empty 
it into those shallow rock basins, where the sun 
evaporated it till nothing was left but the salt. 

Close on the heels of the food problem had 
come that of clothing. Marian thanked her stars 
that the soil of the Island was sandy and brushed 
off easily, but even with that in their favor they 
had not been on the Island so very long before 
their clothing sadly needed washing. She put 
her whole flock into their bathing-suits and 
washed everything else. But that made such 
inroads on her lone cake of soap that she de- 
cided things must do without soap in the future, 
and what dirt would not come out with water 
and sunshine would have to stay in. That went 
sorely against the grain, for Mrs. Hadley was 
a notoriously neat and clean woman and had 
trained her daughter in her own spick-and-span 
ways; but it could not be helped. 

Before long it became plain that the question 
of washing was not all there was to it either. 
Clothes constantly worn will in time wear out, 
and Marian’s little flock soon became shabby as 
well as dingy. She staved off the evil day for a 
103 


Smugglers’ Island 


while by decreeing that the bathing-suits must 
be worn all the time, and so the other clothes 
were folded away up at the Cave, to await the 
blest day when some one should wander into 
San Moros and take them all back to the 
Port. 

The children were willing enough. It did 
away with the need of dressing and undressing, 
for they had so little bedding that Marian let 
them sleep in their suits too. Davie could not see 
any use in clothes anyway, except when he was 
cold. Before long he rebelled against even the 
little bathing-suit, and as there was no one to 
see and criticize, his sister let him run from 
morning till night absolutely naked. He was so 
fat and dimpled and sweet that the other chil- 
dren liked him best that way, and his little body 
became so tanned that Marian called him a little 
Indian, and because he strutted about in such 
a lordly way she dubbed him Hiawatha. That 
tickled Delbert, who then tied his little brother’s 
hair in tufts and stuck them full of feathers. 

Delbert himself began to need the barber’s 
services, but when Jennie told him so one day 
he declared he was not going to have his hair 
104 


Bonanza Cove 

cut, he was going to let it grow long and make 
fishlines of it. 

‘‘You’ll look fine,” said she, scornfully; “a 
boy with pigtails; you’d better cut it, Marian.” 

But Marian, with a mental vision of how fine 
he would look after she had barbered him with 
the buttonhole scissors, decided in favor of pig- 
tails. 

So Delbert tied a string about his forehead, 
stuck feathers in it, and demanded an Indian 
name. Marian named him Chingachgook. Of 
course the little girls wanted Indian names too, 
so she told Jennie she could be Wahtawah and 
Esther Pocahontas. 

They were very much pleased and went 
straightway to hunt up some feathers, though 
Delbert declared that squaws never wore them. 

“Nevermind,” said Marian soothingly, “these 
squaws can do anything they have a mind to.” 

She herself did not adopt a name, but Delbert 
used to call her the great squaw chief. 

As for shelter, they never found on the Island 
a better place than that which they had for- 
tunately secured the first night. The bat cave 
near the water’s edge was the only other cave 
los 


Smugglers’ Island 


of any considerable size, and nothing else would 
have afforded any security whatever from a 
storm. Whenever it was convenient, Marian 
reinforced the brush shade in front of the Cave. 
She had it good and thick now, but of course it 
would not have turned a rain. The nights were 
getting cooler, and she cast about for ways and 
means of getting more bedding. She pounded 
sticks and dried banana leaves into the Cave 
where it ran back and became too narrow for 
their feet. She blocked up the sides with rocks 
and pieces of driftwood and filled in the chinks 
with little wads of banana leaves, so that the 
wind was shut out better. She saved the feathers 
from the birds they killed, and tied them up in 
the little girls’ petticoats for pillows, and she 
saved every rabbit-skin and stretched it out so 
that it dried smoothly, scraping it as clean as 
she could, and when it was almost dry, rubbed 
and worked it till it was soft and pliable. This, 
of course, was not the same as having them 
tanned, but she did not know how to tan leather, 
much as she wished she did. 

After she had learned how to keep herself 
supplied with salt, she used to rub that on the 
io6 


Bonanza Cove 


fresh skins when she stretched them out to dry, 
believing that was one good step toward pre- 
serving them. When she had quite a number all 
finished up in this manner, she trimmed the 
edges a little and sewed them together. In the 
course of time she would have a robe large enough 
to cover them all, and as long as she could keep 
it dry it would not spoil. 

Delbert was interested in bows and arrows. 
His first efforts at making bows were not start- 
ling successes, by any means, and he soon 
turned them over to Wahtawah and Pocahontas 
and tried for better ones for himself. At first 
he used any and every kind of a straight smooth 
stick he ran across, and it seemed almost im- 
possible to find any that combined the neces- 
sary straightness and strength, but when he 
finally caught the idea of making them of palm- 
leaf stems, which are very tough and strong, 
he evolved one that would actually shoot quite 
effectively. 

Then his sisters straightway clamored for 
good bows also, and he must needs make for 
them too. He was at first a little scornful, but 
Marian advised that he arm them as well as 
107 


Smugglers’ Island 


possible, for while the chances of their bagging 
any game were slim in any case, there was simply 
no chance at all with bows that were only toys. 
Bowstrings were made from Marian’s hair, but 
arrow-points were a puzzling problem. The 
boys at the Port had tipped their arrows with 
heavy wire, but wire was not an Island commod- 
ity. Marian suggested bone, and a few were 
made of that material, but it was so very hard 
to work, and the knives needed so much whet- 
ting, that they were constantly on the lookout 
for something easier. Finally they learned to 
make them of wood hardened in the fire. 

The first bows made were now Davie’s prop- 
erty, and he was so reckless with his shooting 
that Marian forbade points of any description 
being put on his arrows. He did not seem to 
mind the omission, — he never hit anything ex- 
cept by accident, and then it was usually one 
of the other children, and they were all careful 
not to call his attention to the fact that his ar- 
rows were all blunt. 

Davie was the only one who was not at times 
more or less depressed by their situation. He 
was so little, and had now been separated from 
io8 


Bonanza Cove 


his mother so long, that he never fretted for her. 
Marian had always taken the most of the care 
of him anyway, so as long as she was there to 
do it he considered that conditions were normal. 
He found life very interesting and satisfactory 
and felt no need of more extensive society. His 
comical baby ways were closely watched and 
intensely enjoyed by the other children, who 
loved him dearly, and they would eagerly report 
to Marian everything funny he did when she 
was not present. Even when he was naughty, 
which he occasionally was, they were rather apt 
to overlook it and laugh at the funny spectacle 
he made of himself. Delbert, though, would get 
provoked sometimes. 

One trick the little fellow had when His Ma- 
jesty was displeased was to hide the whetstone. 
This was a stone which he himself had picked 
up out on one of the salt reefs. It was a little 
different from any other that they had found 
and was splendid to sharpen the knives and 
hatchet with. Delbert used to make quite an 
ado over borrowing it from Davie, because it 
pleased him so to have something apparently 
so valuable to lend. Marian, too, was careful 
109 


Smugglers’ Island 


to say, ‘‘ Please lend me your whetstone, Davie,” 
before she rubbed her knife over it, and as a 
rule he would beamingly give permission. That 
and the dig-spoon were about the only things 
that were considered especially his, and as it 
was not often that any one else used the dig- 
spoon, he did not bother much about it; but 
when he felt naughty he would conceal the little 
stone and refuse to reveal its whereabouts. 

Sometimes Delbert would use some other 
stone then, or he would coolly wait until Davie 
got over his pouts and brought forth the good 
one, or else he would slyly hunt it up and use it 
without Davie’s knowledge, carefully replacing 
it when he had finished. 

But one day he could not find it, and Davie 
simply would not get it. Marian herself wanted 
it too, but Davie resisted even her coaxing. Del- 
bert lost all patience, and Marian began to 
wonder on the second day if some measure more 
strenuous than common might not be needed. 
She began to think that perhaps the child him- 
self did not know where it was ; it might possibly 
be that he had lost it instead of hiding it. He 
was so little and his speech was so limited as yet 


no 


Bonanza Cove 


that she did not always feel sure that she under- 
stood him perfectly. Perhaps he simply did 
not want to admit that he had not been bright 
enough to keep track of the valuable thing him- 
self. But then Esther saw him playing with the 
stone off by himself. When she ran to tell Ma- 
rian, however, he hid it again and only smiled 
impishly at their requests. 

No, he was simply being naughty, and, what 
was worse, was staying naughty; so after a little 
Marian issued her verdict. 

''I won’t punish him, though I could prob- 
ably make him get it by spanking him, but 
mother never did that to him, and I will not till 
I really have to, but the next time any of you 
see that whetstone you may take it from him 
and I will confiscate it and it won’t be his stone 
any more.” 

‘^But,” said Jennie dubiously, ‘‘it is his stone; 
he found it, Marian.” 

“That is true,” returned her sister, “and if it 
were some less necessary thing I would say he 
had a right to do as he chose with it, but a whet- 
stone is something we all need. I need it to 
sharpen the hatchet with; nothing else I can 
III 


Smugglers’ Island 

find does so well. Delbert needs it right now to 
sharpen his knife, so he can work out that bone 
arrowhead. It is to Davie’s interest as well as 
ours that the hatchet and knives should be sharp, 
only he is so little he can’t realize it. Just be- 
cause he saw the stone first doe^ not give him a 
right to hide it away and refuse to let us use it, 
when we all need the use of it and there is not 
another one like it that we know of.” 

She explained this all as well as she could to 
Davie, but he remained obdurate. They set 
themselves to work, therefore, to ferret out the 
much-needed implement, and before long Del- 
bert found it and brought it in triumph to Ma- 
rian, who took possession of it amid Davie’s loud 
wails. 

His crying availed him nothing, however; the 
stone was put in a cleft of the rock where only 
Marian and Delbert could reach it, and the 
young would-be monopolist finally decided that 
it was not worth crying for, and, smoothing out 
his face, trotted about his affairs as sweetly im- 
portant as ever. 


CHAPTER V 


THE EGG ISLANDS 

It was now growing close to that time so dear 
to children’s hearts, — and grown people’s, too, 
for that matter, — namely, Christmas. 

The Hadleys had always made much of it, 
and, hampered as she was, Marian determined 
to celebrate in some manner. She had had to let 
Thanksgiving go by unnoticed, for the especial 
rite of that day is a loaded dinner-table, and 
she had bowed to the inevitable, but, though 
good dinners are in order of a Christmas Day, 
they are not the entire prograrrime, and Mar- 
ian’s fertile brain grew busy. 

In her workbag was the roll of fine lawn of 
which she had been making handkerchiefs. One 
was partly made, and with careful planning 
there was enough material to make three more, 
leaving a few little scraps. In off moments, 
when the children were engaged in making love 
to the baby burro or busy at play on the beach, 
she hemmed the handkerchiefs, and then with 

113 


Smugglers’ Island 

her colored silks outlined Mother Goose pictures 
on them and wrote the children’s names in the 
corners. So far, so good. 

Then she constructed three little dolls, each 
doll being made of one straight bone with a knob 
at one end that would do for the head, with a 
wishbone tied below to make the arms. One doll 
had wishbone legs too, but that exhausted the 
supply of wishbones, and the other two had to 
be content with legs that were not so nicely 
matched. Faces and hair she made with the 
lead-pencil, and little suits of underwear from 
the scraps of lawn, and she cut a piece out of the 
ruffle of her colored petticoat for the dresses and 
three cunning little sunbonnets. For Delbert she 
whittled out a little boat about three inches long 
and rigged it out with silken ropes and a lawn 
sail. 

On Christmas Eve she gathered them about 
her in front of their fire up by the Cave, and 
told them Christmas stories till they were sleepy, 
and, to their glee, had them hang up their stock- 
ings before they crawled into the Cave and 
cuddled into bed. 

Somewhat to her surprise, they insisted that 
114 


The Egg Islands 

she hang up her stocking too, which she did, 
wondering much what they had planned to sur- 
prise her with, for she knew now, by their danc- 
ing eyes and loving voices, that they had planned 
something, though she had not noticed anything 
mysterious in their behavior before. 

In the morning she was careful to go down to 
the well for a pail of water the first thing, so as 
to give them a chance to fill her stocking, and, 
sure enough, upon her return she found it full to 
overflowing. 

It seemed that for several weeks back Delbert 
and the little girls had been saving every pretty 
shell and feather they found for this purpose and 
they had accumulated a large assortment. 

Shells, feathers, crabs’ claws and seaweed, — 
how sharp their bright eyes had been to spy out 
every pretty thing they passed! How indus- 
triously the little hands had gathered ! 

Marian’s heart swelled. How she praised that 
collection! And straightway after breakfast 
she hunted up a nice, safe, dry little cleft in the 
rock, a sort of a baby cave, where she arranged 
them all, sorting the feathers and tying them in 
bunches, and when all was in order fitted one 
IIS 


Smugglers’ Island 

of the little boards they had found in the cove 
in front for a door, so nothing should disturb the 
treasures. 

That morning, out on one of the salt reefs, 
they found a log in among the mango bushes, 
where it had hitherto lain unseen. Marian 
judged that it had been tossed there by the 
storm the night of their arrival, for it did not 
appear to have lain there so very long. 

Of course, they worked and tugged till they 
had it in the water, and it was so much of 
an improvement over the old canoe that they 
straightway discarded that, — Marian later work- 
ing it into the corral, — and every day they 
went out on the log. 

It floated in shallower water than the canoe 
and was easily poled or paddled wherever they 
wished to go, but it had two drawbacks; first, 
it had nothing to which the rope could be tied to 
moor it, — but that really did not matter much 
for they could roll it up on the beach out of reach 
of the water; but for the second, it was so round 
and smooth that it was forever rolling over and 
spilling some one off into the water, and this 
drawback simply had to be put up with. 

ii6 


The Egg Islands 

One morning, down in the cove, Delbert 
found a small watermelon. Probably it had been 
lost overboard from some steamer passing by 
out in the Gulf, for it was many a long league to 
where such things were grown, yet in any case it 
seemed a wonderful thing that, with all that 
waste of tossing water, that little melon, scarce 
as large as Marian’s head, should have drifted 
into San Moros and then into their cove. It was 
ripe and they ate it, gnawing down the rind to 
the very outside. Ordinarily Marian would not 
have allowed that, but so small a melon divided 
into five pieces did not give a very large piece to 
each one, and they were hungry for something 
besides animal food, and had not found a really 
good bunch of bananas yet. 

They saved the seeds of the melon and de- 
cided to plant a patch with them, though they 
hoped to be rescued long before they could eat 
of the fruits of their labor. To plant the patch 
would give them something new to do, and per- 
haps some one else would be benefited by the 
crop even if they were not. 

Marian had never been much of a gardener, 
but she thought the long, low, sandy point would 
117 


Smugglers’ Island 

be a good place to plant, for by digging down a 
little there they would reach soil that was al- 
ways damp with the fresh water underneath; so 
the garden would not need irrigation, and she 
had heard some one say that sandy soil was good 
for melons. 

Delbert remembered reading in his history 
that the North American Indians used to put a 
fish in each hill of corn for fertilizer, and he 
wanted to try it. But fish were not so easily se- 
cured as to warrant that; they were growing 
scarce in High-Tide Pool, and in other places 
they were not very hungry somehow, and it was 
rare, indeed, when Delbert could manage to 
spear one with his one-pronged spear. 

However, the traps were gathering in rabbits 
pretty frequently, and the discarded portions 
of these could be used instead. So they planted 
their melon-patch, digging holes down to the 
damp soil and planting the seeds in the bottoms 
with a little fertilizer near. Marian saved half 
the seeds in case the planting should not prosper 
and should have to be done over again. 

When they had finished that labor and were 
proudly viewing their neat rows of melon holes, 
ii8 


The Egg Islands 

Delbert suddenly exclaimed, ‘‘Say, Marian! I 
bet I know where we could get some more vege- 
table seeds/’ 

‘'For pity’s sake, where?” 

In my coat pocket. Don’t you remember 
when Bobbie’s father sent off for seeds, and they 
were so long in coming, and the rats had got to 
’em somewhere on the road and chewed holes 
in the papers, and the seeds were all spilling out ? 
Well, I helped Bobbie carry them home from 
the office, and we put them in our coat pockets, 
some of them, and I’ll bet there are some of 
those seeds in my pockets yet.” 

Straight they went to the Cave and turned 
every pocket wrong side out over a white cloth 
and with miserly care saved every tiny seed that 
fell. There was in all nearly a teaspoonful. 
Marian separated them, putting each kind in a 
clamshell by itself. 

There were seven kinds. One was peas; there 
were just three of them. They were not sure of 
the others, though Jennie rather thought one 
kind was eggplant, and Marian was pretty sure 
another was onions. 

Down in a corner by the bananas was the place 
119 


Smugglers’ Island 

chosen for this second planting. They built a 
fence around it, a rather frail affair, but specially 
designed to keep out rabbits, and they sprin- 
kled the beds twice a day. All three of the peas 
sprouted, but something ate them up. What 
Marian had thought was onions never came up at 
all, but the remaining five kinds all sprouted 
and grew well, and though their ranks were 
diminished by various bugs and birds, — for 
Marian could not be on guard every minute of 
the time, — there were a few plants of each kind 
that survived all accidents. 

Jennie’s eggplant turned out to be big sweet 
peppers; the other plants proved to be turnip, 
carrots, lettuce, and — poppies. Delbert could 
never understand about that last, for he was 
very sure Bobbie’s father had sent only for 
vegetable seeds, but Marian thought Bobbie’s 
mother had probably had something to do with 
the list of seeds ordered. 

The melons did best of all. There were so few 
of the others that Marian vetoed all eating till 
the seeds could be gathered, but the melon-patch 
produced abundantly, so that they did not have 
to worry about seeds, but began eating as soon 


120 


The Egg Islands 

as the centers were pinkish, and only saved seeds 
from the best ones that came later. 

But long before the melons were ripe, their 
scanty larder had been replenished from a to- 
tally different direction. 

‘‘Marian,’" Delbert had said, “those little 
white-looking islands away down the bay are 
duck islands. Clarence told me so, and I can 
see the ducks going to them every day. Wish 
we could go there; duck eggs are good, I tell 
you.” 

Away down San Moros they could see them, 
two little islands, mere trifles compared with 
Smugglers’, and so far away that ordinarily 
Marian would not have wasted a moment on 
thoughts of a journey there, but eggs, perhaps 
young ducks, and here were her hungry little 
crew gazing wistfully. “Ducks” the children 
called them, and it was not till long afterward 
that they learned that the birds were really cor- 
morants. If they had known this at the time, 
they might not have been so hungry for the 
eggs, but cormorants’ eggs, like the eggs of other 
seabirds, are not uneatable when one is hungry 
enough, and they are often eaten by fishermen. 


I2I 


Smugglers’ Island 

The young girl thought and studied and made 
ropes and looked toward the ‘‘duck islands.” 
Every morning long lines of birds went out from 
them to the sea; every evening long lines came 
back. 

On those two islands thousands of these 
“ducks” were nesting. 

All of her charges could swim now ; even Davie 
could help himself a little in the water. If only 
the log did not turn over in the water so easily 
and often! If that could be remedied, Marian 
thought they might risk the voyage. She and 
Delbert could easily steer the craft now. They 
had picked and chosen among the few poles at 
their disposal, till they had three that seemed 
pretty good, — one longish one for poling, two 
others that served in a fashion as paddles. Jen- 
nie and Esther could use them a little. 

Then a full week was spent in cutting down 
banana plants and fixing them in the corral 
fence so as to release the poles that were in it, 
and this was the time too when the old canoe 
was put into the fence. 

Those big poles, though not nearly so large as 
the log, were now laid parallel to it and tightly 


122 


The Egg Islands 

lashed on, making an extension on each side that 
would prevent the log rolling over, so that, while 
they could not ride on it and keep dry, they 
could at least ride it in safety. They could not 
now roll the craft up the beach, but it could 
easily be moored by tying a rope to one of the 
poles. Good ropes were scarce, though; it had 
taken the best ones to lash the queer raft to- 
gether. 

Marian’s mind was now fully made up for 
the venture. They started early. The old bar- 
rel was tied on, also the broken demijohn. Fire 
to cook their dinner with was a question. Mar- 
ian did not want to risk taking the matches 
for fear they would get wet by some unlucky 
accident, so she put a quantity of ashes in the 
barrel and buried some good half-burned brands 
in them. And because they did not know for 
sure whether they would find wood on the 
^"duck islands” or not, they took along a little 
bundle of sticks too. They had learned that the 
trunks of the banana plants contain a tough, 
strong fiber, and they were using this for tying, 
where short strings were wanted. 

Their breakfast consisted of cold boiled cotton- 
123 


Smugglers’ Island 


tail left over from supper and a few small and 
very inferior bananas. These they ate on the 
raft after they had started, and they drank from 
the bottles of water which had also been put into 
the old barrel. It was not a very ample meal, 
and they turned longing eyes on the distant 
islands. It was devoutly to be hoped that food 
was plenty there. 

The sea was veiy smooth; Marian would not 
have started if it had not been. The raft was 
easily paddled along, and she soon lost the few 
nervous misgivings with which she began the 
trip, but she also soon decided that she would 
never make it again till she had studied up some 
way of putting up a sail. She was quite sure 
that Clarence would have done it, and it did 
seem as if it would take forever to get across 
that stretch of water. 

However, they reached their destination be- 
fore noon, and, drawing their odd craft up on a 
bit of beach, they took everything ashore and 
hunted a good place for a fire. Having found 
one, they carefully drew the embers from their 
bed of ashes and, with much coaxing and blow- 
ing and pulling of handfuls of dried grass, 
124 


The Egg Islands 

finally got a little blaze started, and then they 
hung the kettle over it with water to heat for 
the eggs which they then went to hunt. 



THE GROUND WAS COVERED WITH THE ROUGH NESTS 


They had to climb a little to reach the eggs, 
but there were certainly plenty of them when 
they got there. The ground was covered with the 
rough nests, — just a few sticks with no art in the 
construction, — but there were hundreds upon 
hundreds of them, far beyond the children’s 
I2S 


Smugglers’ Island 

power to count. There were eggs in all stages of 
incubation from fresh-laid to fully hatched, and 
awkward squabs tumbled about, while the air 
was rent by the discordant cries of the older 
ones. 

The unpleasant odor arising was so strong 
that Jennie sickened and quickly retreated to 
the beach below, where the fresh air was un- 
tainted, but Esther and Davie were undaunted 
by the noise or the smell and remained to be 
taught the difference between fresh eggs and 
stale ones. The eggs were smaller than the ordi- 
nary hen’s egg, being more slender and pointed, 
with a pale-blue chalkiness, which was not so 
apparent in eggs that had been for some time sat 
upon. 

Neither Delbert nor Marian had seen these 
islands before or any others like them, but Clar- 
ence had, and they remembered his teaching and 
soon had all the fresh eggs they could carry 
away. Delbert also picked out a couple of half- 
grown squabs, whose necks he wrung as soon as 
he reached the beach; and soon they had their 
kettle full of eggs simmering, while the squabs 
roasted before the fire. 

126 


The Egg Islands 


Cormorants’ eggs have a slight fishy flavor, 
but the Hadley appetite did not stick at that, 
nor at the fact that the white does not coagulate 
solid, but remains a quivering jelly of a pale- 



green color, through which the yellow yolk can 
be plainly seen. The flavor of the squabs, too, 
might not have been appreciated at Delmon- 
ico’s, but Marian’s company was not so fastidi- 
ous as some people are. That which could be 
eaten they ate without ado. 

127 



Smugglers’ Island 

And after they had eaten all they wanted, 
they examined the island. There was nothing 
of importance upon it but the birds and the 
eggs. There was some driftwood, to be sure, 
which they threw up on the high banks out of 
reach of the tides, in case they might want it 
some time ; and down on the narrow little beaches 
the children found great numbers of little clam- 
shells, from the size of Davie’s little fingernail 
up to as large as a quarter, and of various as- 
sorted colors, which they gathered with great 
enjoyment. 

Their fire at home having been carefully cov- 
ered as usual, they did not need to take any em- 
bers back with them, and so used the ashes to 
pack eggs in, putting into the barrel and the old 
demijohn all they thought they could use up 
before they would spoil. It ••took several trips 
up to the nests to get enough, and they took a 
dozen half-grown squabs as well. These, with 
their legs tied together, were also put into the 
barrel, where in spite of all precautions they 
managed to break quite a number of eggs before 
they were landed at Smugglers’. 

As it chanced, they had a tide in their favor 
128 


The Egg Islands 

on the way home, and they arrived in good time. 
They carried their eggs up to the Cave and they 
picketed the squabs out, tying each one where 
it could not get entangled with its neighbors. 

Their supper consisted of eggs and some quail 
that had got into the traps during their absence, 
and as they sat about their cozy fire up at the 
Cave, Marian felt that the day had been well 
spent. 

It took considerable planning to contrive a 
sail for the raft. To begin with, there was noth- 
ing at all suitable for a mast, and, secondly, there 
was nothing suitable for a sail. The hatchet, 
too, was by this time very dull and needed a 
great deal of sharpening. Delbert said he had 
seen Indian canoes with an oar for a mast and a 
blanket for a sail, and they could use a blanket 
also and perhaps could make shift with a pole 
of some description in lieu of an oar; but even 
then it needed ropes, and they had used all theirs 
in lashing the raft together, and there were no 
more palm-leaves till more should grow. It was 
then they resorted to banana fiber entirely. It 
took considerable time to work it out nice and 
clean, but they finally got serviceable ropes of it. 

129 


Smugglers’ Island 

With a great deal of bracing and tying of crooked 
poles, they succeeded at last in rigging up a sail 
that very materially assisted them in making 
several other trips to the bird islands before the 
nesting-season was over. 

But to carry live coals with them when they 
went away from the home island was a nuisance, 
and Marian did not want to use the matches 
except in case of absolute necessity. Besides, 
there was danger of getting them wet if they were 
taken on the raft, for nothing on that craft was 
sure of not receiving a bath sooner or later on 
every trip, and often everything and everybody 
got ducked several times ; even what was in the 
barrel was not always secure. 

The children wanted Marian to try building a 
fire with the crystal of her watch, but she did 
not want to take that off for fear of getting dirt 
in the works. 

‘‘But there are other ways,” she told them. 
“Our grandparents used to make fire with a 
flint and steel. Let’s watch for flints.” 

“Why, I’ve got a flint now in my pocket,” 
said Jennie. “Carmelita gave it to me. She 
said her father lit his cigarettes with it, but he 
130 


The Egg Islands 

had bought him another one/’ She produced a 
bit of stone as big as the end of her thumb. 

Marian examined it. 

“This is too small,” she said. It has been 
used till it is nearly all chipped away; there is 
hardly enough of it left to hang on to.” 

“Why won’t any stone do?” asked Jennie, as 
she pocketed her treasure. 

“I guess because flint is harder than other 
stone. It has to be hard enough to shave off a 
little shaving of steel you know. That is what 
the spark is, a tiny shaving of steel that is afire.” 

“ Where ’d we get steel?” asked Esther. 

“Oh, the knives are all steel.” 

“And the dig-spoon?” 

“No^ that is only iron. It is n’t just the same 
thing, Pocahontas, and I ’m sure if we keep our 
eyes open we can find little pieces of flint that 
will do.” 

That, indeed, was not difficult. They soon 
had a collection of bits of flint, some of which, 
indeed, were actual arrowheads dropped in some 
age long gone by. 

Then Marian tried over and over to strike 
sparks from the bits of flint and the backs of 

131 


Smugglers’ Island 

the knives ; sometimes a weak little spark would 
fly out only to disappear immediately, and no 
kindling she could get would ignite. They had 
seen Mexicans light their cigarettes by this 
method time and again, but the Mexican has a 
prepared wick which catches the spark and burns 
on till it is put out. 

Marian tried to make a wick from strips of 
rag torn from the towel, but it was of no avail. 
She was not very successful in striking a spark 
in the first place, and she never could retain one 
for a second after it was struck. 

“I believe we’ve got to be more primitive 
still,” she said to Delbert. "‘The real wild In- 
dian makes his fire by rubbing two sticks to- 
gether.” 

Something distracted her attention then, and 
she thought no more about it till Delbert came 
to her a half-hour later, flushed and tired and 
disgusted. 

“Marian,” he said, “I don’t believe any In- 
dian ever made two sticks light by rubbing them 
together!” 

“Have you been trying it.?” she asked. 

“Yes, and I’ve rubbed and rubbed and rubbed, 
132 


The Egg Islands 

and they don’t light at all.” He showed the 
sticks that he had been rubbing broadside 
against broadside till they were quite nicely pol- 
ished. 

Marian had to laugh. 

‘‘Dear boy, they don’t do it that way,” she 
said. ‘‘I don’t know that I can do it, but I saw 
it done once. I truly did. Do you remember that 
man — I don’t suppose you do, though, you 
were so little, but he was uncle to the lady that 
lived in the white house just across the stream 
there where we lived before Ronald died.” 

“I remember the white house,” said Delbert, 
“and the lady, — Mrs. Walton, was n’t it? She 
had the funny cats with long hair and she always 
had pink ribbons on their necks.” 

“Angora cats. Yes, I remember she had a 
couple. Well, her uncle came to visit her once, 
and he had been agent or something out on an 
Indian reservation, and he knew all kinds of 
Indian things that the Walton boys wanted to 
know, and so he used to tell them about these 
things, and I took it all in whenever I was there. 
He knew how to scalp a dead enemy, and how 
to tie a live one to a horse so he could n’t get 

133 


Smugglers’ Island 

away. I remember those two things distinctly, 
and he explained about smoking a peace pipe, 
and how to tell which way you were going when 
you got lost, and also — how to make a fire with 
two sticks.” 

‘‘Well, I just want you to show me; that’s 
all!” 

“All right, we’ll try it. That man told just 
what kind of wood to use, but I’ve forgotten 
that, and probably we could n’t get the same 
kind anyway. I guess this piece will do to begin 
with, and if it does n’t work we’ll try some other 
kind. Now, it wants a nice smooth, round stick. 
Give me your knife; I can whittle better with 
it than I can with the other one. Let me see, 
it needs a — where is that broken bottle that 
Davie was playing with that just had the rounded 
bottom left on it? That’s it. You see, now, we 
have this stick about a foot long, and we smooth 
one end off nicely, and we make the other one 
pointed, then we make a little notch in this other 
stick and down like that. Where is your bow? 
I believe that is too big. Give me Jennie’s and 
tighten the string on it. Now I put this big 
stick with the notches down where I can hold it 


134 


The Egg Islands 

firm with my foot, so, and take a turn of the 
bowstring around the little round stick, so, and 
— give me that piece of bottle — I put it over 
the top end of the round stick so it can revolve 
smoothly, which it could not do in the palm of 
my hand, — at least, not without wearing my 
hand out, — and I fit the pointed end into the 
top notch I made in the other stick, so. Now, 
you will see how quick we’ll have a fire here.” 

She started drawing the bow back and forth, 
thereby twirling the stick first one way and 
then the other, and she whirled and whirled and 
whirled it till her arm fairly ached ; but nothing 
came of it. She took a rest and tried again. This 
time she produced smoke and charred the sticks 
a little, but still no fire. 

‘‘Perhaps it isn’t the right kind of wood.” 
said Delbert. 

That was the beginning of their effort to make 
fire without matches. It was fascinating. With 
some sticks the smoke would curl up thick and 
white till Marian’s eyes fairly smarted with it, 
but no fire appeared. Delbert tried it, the little 
girls tried it, and Davie, with great gravity and 
earnestness, tried it too. 

I3S 


Smugglers’ Island 

They whittled sticks constantly in the en- 
deavor to get one just right. Then the craze died 
out for a few days; but it was taken up again. 
Marian was sure that she was doing it just as the 
Walton’s boys’ uncle had done it, and he had 
produced fire in a very short time, — not more 
than a minute, she was sure. She studied over 
the problem. It seemed as if with so much 
smoke and charring it simply must ignite, but 
it did not. She would rub and rub, till there 
would be a teaspoonful of brown powdered 
wood at the foot of her downward notch, but 
never a spark. She would drop the implements 
in disgust and go at something else, but always 
next day, or the next, she returned to them and 
tried again. 

She had seen it done and she herself could 
produce a little wreath of smoke, while her im- 
plements grew hot and actually charred. She 
tried with every kind of driftwood that seemed 
different from what she had used before, and 
while up in the pasture she would cut sticks from 
the different growing shrubs and dry them in 
the hot sun to experiment with. Then, one day, 
as she watched the little pile of black powder 
136 


The Egg Islands 

fall from her twirling stick, she saw a bit of it 
turn to a red glow and knew that she had suc- 
ceeded. 

How they scurried for kindlings and coaxed 
that tiny bit of brightness ! It glowed and glowed 
till all the black powder was burned, and then 
it went out. Well, having once done it, of course 
she could do it again, and next time she would 
be prepared and have fine stuff ready to kindle 
with. 

So she tried again and again and again, till 
her arm ached and her breath came in gasps. 
And the children would squat in a circle, their 
bright eyes glued to the tiny pile of powdered 
charred wood, and Esther, with unvarying mo- 
notony, would ask, "‘Why does n’t it light, Mar- 
ian.? Did before”; and presently, “Why does 
n’t it light, Marian? Did before.” 

It was fully a week after the first success be- 
fore she achieved the second one, and then also, 
in spite of her best and most earnest endeavor, 
she could not kindle it any farther, and when 
the charred powder was exhausted it went 
out. 

Of course, she could not spend all her time 

137 


Smugglers’ Island 

upon it, but every day there would be a trial of 
it sandwiched in between other labors. 

She took particular notice of the wood she 
was using when success crowned her efforts. 
The little round stick was from a piece of drift- 
wood. She did not know what it was, but it was 
a soft wood that whittled easily, and the base 
piece was from a kind of tree cactus called echo} 

After a while she became so accomplished that 
she could produce fire about every tenth time 
she tried, and in course of time she became much 
more expert than that. She always used echo 
for her base piece, and for the other she found 
that a certain bush up in the pasture was best. 
She could cut sticks from it and dry them, and 
they were straight and round and smooth with- 
out any whittling. 

Also she learned that a handful of grass so 
old and dry that it had all turned gray, if it were 
broken and rubbed till it was very fine, made good 
kindling. With a handful of that over her pre- 
cious coal of fire, she could, with careful coaxing, 
get a blaze, and then it was easy to build on with 
other material. 

^ Pronounced ay' tcho. 

138 


The Egg Islands 

Having once learned how, she felt easier. She 
laid up pieces of the selected wood in several 
places on the Island, where they would keep 
dry, — carried some away back into the bat cave 
for one place, — besides having a good supply 
tucked away in the home Cave. 

When they went away from the Island, they 
would take a couple of the fire-sticks with them 
along with Delbert’s arrows. They used to tie 
them high up on the mast to keep them out of 
the way of spray and splashings, and Marian 
would slip the bottle-bottom into her pocket. 
The glass was somewhat clumsy, however, and 
there was danger of cutting her fingers on it, and 
afterwards they found some shells — big bar- 
nacles, I think they were — which served the 
purpose just as well and were neater and safer 
to handle. 

Dried grass they could always find; so they 
could have a fire whenever they wanted it with- 
out using the matches, which were dropped into 
the workbag to await some possible emergency. 
On the Island, however, they found it more con- 
venient to bury the brands from one fire over 
to another, as they had done before. 

139 


Smugglers’ Island 


Their trips to the egg islands, however, did 
not wait on all of this. As before mentioned, 
there were two of these islands. On the farther 
and smaller of the two they found several things 
that proved of value. It was the one the 
nearer to the mainland, and some time or other 
there had been a house or camp of some de- 
scription on it. They found the blackened stones 
where the food had been cooked over the fire 
and some broken fragments of pottery such as 
the natives use, and, not far away, some scraps 
of iron so broken and rusty that they could not 
make up their minds what they had been, but 
Marian saved them. 

Growing near were shrubs and bushes like 
those in their own pasture, but Delbert found 
one bush that had two shoots longer and 
straighter than any he had yet seen, and when 
cut and trimmed they made better spear-handles 
than the one he had been using. And at low tide 
they found there the largest oysters they had 
yet discovered an3rwhere. 

When back at their own camp, Marian and 
Delbert resolutely attacked the job of making a 
better spear or harpoon than the one they had. 

140 


The Egg Islands 

It seemed to the girl that if one only understood 
a little of blacksmithing, one of the pieces of 
iron could be altered a little and made into a very 
respectable spear-head, and perhaps, if one did 
not understand, one could learn a little. 

She could easily poke the iron into the fire 
till it grew red-hot. To handle it afterwards was 
the question. She and Delbert were both afraid 
of getting burned, and wasted much time be- 
cause of that fear. 

They rigged up a rude pair of tongs with some 
green sticks and a little rope, and, using the 
hatchet for a hammer and a flat stone for an 
anvil, they began work. It was intensely inter- 
esting. 

The experiment in ‘Muck ’’-raising proved 
unsuccessful, for the cormorant squabs which 
they brought home alive would eat nothing but 
fish, and as each one of them demanded more 
than his own weight in food every day, the chil- 
dren soon found that the task of keeping them fed 
was a hopeless one. They killed them all off at 
once, therefore, and had such a feast of 'Muck” 
that they were content to do without that 
particular kind of meat for some time to come. 

141 


Smugglers’ Island" 

They had plenty of eggs and clams, however, 
and an occasional quail or rabbit; so they did 
not need to waste any time searching for food. 
Davie and the little girls wandered off to play 
with the little bone dolls or the baby burro. 
Marian glanced toward them or stopped to lis- 
ten sometimes, but the sight of their little forms 
near by or the sound of their sweet, childish 
voices reassured her, and she continued with the 
task in hand. 

A man who understood such things would 
have done much better even with those rude 
tools. Time and again it seemed to the girl that 
she could do no better, go no further in the task; 
then some idea would come to one or the other 
of them, and they would work awhile longer. A 
full week went by before the new tool was fin- 
ished, a two-pronged affair, one prong a little 
longer than the other and of a different shape, 
but both sharp and barbed. It fastened quite 
snugly to the straightest of the new handles. 

After that she and Delbert went spearing at 
night in the little harbor, when the tide was just 
right and the children were asleep. They would 
go out on the raft where there were mango 
142 


The Egg Islands 

bushes, but for this they had to have a torch- 
light at one end of the raft. 

They had often seen the Indians at the Port 
start out at night with great piles of pitalla in 
their canoes to burn in a huge wire and iron bas- 
ket, which would cast a bright circle of light for 
quite a space around, in which the fish could be 
plainly seen. Marian thought that the light 
attracted them. 

This pitalla is a kind of tree cactus the bark 
of which is very resinous and when dry bums 
with a very hot, bright flame. They could 
gather it in the pasture, but they had no wire 
basket and nothing to make one of. The best, 
it seemed, that they could do was to make a 
mat of green banana leaves and mud on the 
poles and build the fire on that. 

It was very unsatisfactory, for the water was 
forever washing over it and putting it out. 
Necessity is the mother of invention, however, 
and after a while Marian hunted in the pasture 
till she found four little crotches of the same 
size, which she cut and trimmed and then fas- 
tened on the extreme end of the log by tying them 
above and below it and to one another. Then, 

143 


Smugglers’ Island 


by laying little sticks across them, she made a 
platform which rose about three feet above the 
surface of the water. She made it quite tight 
by weaving in stout twigs and banana leaves and 
stems, and when it was finished, she plastered 
it over with the slimiest mud she could find, and 
on that laid thin flat rocks, fitting them with 
care so that their edges projected past the edge 
of the platform and filling in the little chinks 
with mud and pebbles. On that when it was fin- 
ished, she could build her fire with safety, for it 
was up out of reach of the water. It was not so 
good as the iron basket of the Indians, for it was 
clumsier, it cast a shadow on the water, and 
there was likelihood of its needing frequent 
repairs; but it would serve. The supply of fuel 
could be kept dry by putting it into the barrel, 
which was tied on so that its open side and end 
were upward. 

When they were first left on the Island, Marian 
would not have dared take those night trips. 
She would not have dared leave the children 
alone at the Cave for one thing, but in all 
the time that they had been there they had 
seen nothing which could have harmed them 
144 


The Egg Islands 

save the one rattlesnake which Delbert had 
killed. 

From the Cave they had cleared three paths, 
— one to the beach, one to the garden and the 
little pier, and one toward the pasture. This last 
had needed no clearing beyond the cutting-out 
of two or three bushes. The path to the pier had 
been mostly a matter of clearing away loose 
stones, and it was easy to follow even in the 
dark. 

However, it was only when Davie was sleepy 
that the children were left at the Cave. When 
he gave promise of being able to keep awake, 
they all went together. Marian would place him 
on the log between the little girls and give them 
strict instructions that they were not to let go 
of him. Then she and Delbert would take turns 
with the spear and the steering of the craft. 

And when she had her little flock all with her, 
Marian would venture out beyond the little har- 
bor, where the water was shallow and the mango 
bushes were thicker, and as long as their fuel 
lasted they would stay out. 

It was a weird scene, — the star-dotted sky 
above, the black, whispering water below, the 
I4S 


Smugglers’ Island 

clumsy raft in the light of the hot fire swept back 
by the breeze, the slender, eager-eyed, half- 
naked boy watching keenly, as mass after mass 
of the mango bushes came into the circle of their 
light. Marian generally guided the raft, for she 
was better at that than Delbert, who seemed 
about as successful as she with the spear. 

Not that either of them had any startling suc- 
cess. Indeed, for a long time it always seemed 
accidental, more the fish’s fault than theirs, 
when one became impaled upon the iron prongs. 
But the sport was exciting, and there was always 
the need that lay back of it to keep their interest 
spurred up, and after a while they both learned 
to strike quickly and with force, so that, with 
constant practice, the time came when a night’s 
spearing meant enough fish for one meal at least, 
and, if luck was with them, for more. 

They had better luck with the spear at night 
than with the line in the daytime, for the hair- 
pin hook was very inadequate and big fish were 
forever straightening it out. When a fish was 
speared, they put it into the barrel with the fuel, 
where one of the girls held a piece of drift-wood 
over it till the wildest of its flopping was past. 

146 



THEY HAD BETTER LUCK WITH 

THE LINE IN 


THE SPEAR AT 
THE DAYTIME 


NIGHT THAN WITH 


Smugglers’ Island 


Davie generally fell asleep, and then it took the 
whole attention of Jennie to hold him safe. In- 
deed, Marian would not risk him with just that, 
and used to take a rope along to tie him when 
he finally dozed off. He objected strenuously to 
being tied as long as he was awake enough to 
know it, but, once he was asleep, she could moor 
him securely, and Jennie could devote herself 
to keeping him cuddled and covered, with no 
fear that he would roll out of her hands when 
the raft careened with some of the spearman’s 
wild lunges. 

When they had as many fish as they wanted, 
or, more often, when their fuel was exhausted, 
they would paddle back to the little pier, moor 
the raft, wash the fishiness off their hands and 
climb back up to the Cave, where they would 
cuddle down in bed and quickly go to sleep. 

Then in the quiet, as she thought of her 
mother, Marian’s eyes would fill with tears and 
her outstretched hand would pass lovingly over 
each little form. Safe as yet,” she would whis- 
per, ‘‘and, O mother, I promise to keep them safe 
till I can give them back to you again.” 


CHAPTER VI 

THE jaguar’s track 

One day, while poking her inquisitive little 
nose into Marian’s workbag, Esther fished up 
five or six knobby, roundish little lumps, de- 
manding, “What are these, Marian?” 

“Nasturtium seeds,” replied Marian care- 
lessly. 

“ ’Sturtium seeds?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why, Marian,” reproachfully; “why haven’t 
you been planting ’em ? Don’t you know ’stur- 
tium seeds are good to eat?” 

Marian gazed steadily for a moment at the 
seeds in the little girl’s outstretched hand, then 
she slowly took them into her own. 

“Pocahontas,” she said solemnly, “I never 
thought of that. Of course they are good to eat, 
— the seeds, leaves, flowers, stems, and all. 
We’ll plant them before the sun goes down to- 
night.” 

“You’re a great squaw chief, you are,” said 
149 


Smugglers’ Island 

Esther scornfully. “Jennie! Dellie! Looky, 
here’s ’sturtium seeds been in Marian’s bag all 
this time, an’ she never thought of planting ’em.” 

Jennie and Delbert came up excitedly. Jennie, 
too, was rather inclined to scorn at such evidence 
of Marian’s lack of thought, but Delbert threw 
his arms around her and planted vehement 
kisses on her cheeks. 

“You shan’t scold her,” he declared. “She’s 
the best squaw chief ever was. Nobody could do 
better, nobody could, and I love her!” 

“So do I ! So do I !” shrieked the girls, rushing 
in to contribute their share of affectionate demon- 
stration, and Davie, dropping the dig-spoon, ran 
up, crying, “Do I ! Do I !” in parrot-like refrain; 
and Marian, laughing, had much ado to keep 
from being knocked down with the onslaught. 

But the seeds were straightway planted, and 
in time became a profusion of red and gold and 
green which delighted the eyes, and incidentally 
the palates, of Marian’s nestful of hungry little 
hawks, as she called them. 

In time also came warm weather and rains, 
and in some respects this bettered their condi- 
tion and in some respects it made it worse. 

ISO 


The Jaguar’s Track 

With warm weather they needed less bedding 
and less clothing at all times. Moreover, the 
rains made things grow. In the pasture there 
were several things that they knew to be good 
for greens, and they gathered a mess of some 
kind every day, boiling them with salt, and won- 
dering how it had been that they had once upon 
a time thought that greens must have butter 
and vinegar to be really good. 

But the rains brought gnats and mosquitoes 
to some extent, and sometimes these were so bad 
among the mango bushes that they could take 
no comfort in fishing. Sometimes, too, they 
troubled them so that they could scarcely sleep 
of nights, though their Cave was so high up on 
the hill that there was usually a light breeze that 
drove away the insect invaders. When the pests 
were very bad, the tribe would draw the table- 
cloth over their faces or would throw grass and 
green leaves on the fire, making a “smudge” 
that would subdue their tormentors. 

Marian thought the bananas had begun to re- 
spond a little to the cultivation she had given 
them in the way of thinning out their numbers. 
At any rate, they were bearing a slightly better 

151 


Smugglers’ Island 

class of fruit. As soon as a bunch ripened a little, 
the birds would promptly start in to take their 
share, and she would cut down the stalk and 
take the bunch up to the cave, where she could 
keep it safely covered up till it was ripe enough 
to be good eating. 

With these and the greens and the water- 
melons she felt always sure of a sufficient com- 
missary supply. Still, they were as keen as ever 
to detect new food. One day Delbert came in 
with several bulbs, or roots, that he had dug up 
in the pasture. He said they looked good enough 
to eat and he wanted to try them. 

Marian was very doubtful, but finally put them 
to roast in the coals while they went down for 
their morning swim, intending to offer one to 
the baby burro when they got back. They had 
taught the burro to eat everything that they 
did, and Delbert had suggested that they try 
the new food on him first. 

He was willing to be cautious, but he was not 
willing to let a perfectly good food lie in the 
ground unused because they were not coura- 
geous enough to find out about it. If the burro 
had no trouble with it, Marian herself would 

152 


The Jaguar’s Track 

sample a little, but very cautiously. She would 
hold a little of it in her mouth awhile first and 
see if anything came of it, and if it seemed all 
right they would all eat a little. 

They had a fine swim. There were nice little 
breakers on the open side of the Island that 
morning. The children would run out a little 
way, wait till the right moment, then turn dex- 
trously and let the foamy wave sweep them up 
on the beach. Marian kept hold of Davie, for 
the water was far too rough to trust his safety 
to his own little legs, sturdy though they were. 
But, with her to hold his hand, he had no fear, 
and laughed as loudly as the rest when the water 
slapped him off his feet and swept him up with 
the seaweed and the crabs. After a while he said 
he was tired and wanted to go and dig; so his 
sister let go of him, and he trotted off to where 
he had left the dig-spoon under a rock, and a 
moment later was excavating most indus- 
triously, while Marian turned her attention to 
the others. 

They all joined hands and waded out a little 
farther than she had cared to go with Davie. 
It was splendid fun, but pretty soon Jennie 
IS3 


Smugglers’ Island 

called out, “Look, Marian! Davie is going up 
to the Cave!” 

They all looked ; sure enough the little fellow 
was almost up the hill. Delbert became excited 
immediately. 

“I’ll just bet he will go to monkeying with 
those potatoes!” he cried, and started forthwith 
for the beach. The same thought had crossed 
Marian’s mind at the same instant, and, ordering 
the little girls to come too, she followed close at 
Delbert’s heels. 

They made all speed for the Cave, but they 
got there too late. Davie was just gulping down 
the last mouthful as they reached him. 

He did his best to look sweetly innocent as he 
told them it was “goo-ood !” Delbert’s face was 
a study. He was provoked enough to shake his 
little brother thoroughly, yet he was frightened 
enough to cry. Marian’s face turned pale. Per- 
haps the things were perfectly harmless, per- 
haps even highly nutritious, but again perhaps 
they were deadly poison. She dared not risk it, 
and tried everything she could think of to force 
the small gourmand to disgorge his stolen — or 
shall we say misappropriated — tidbit. 

1 54 


The Jaguar’s Track 

It was no use. Davie would not drink a lot of 
warm salt water, and he would not let Marian 
run her fingers down his throat either. 

She tried coaxing first, to no avail, and then 
she used force, but though they managed, by 
holding his nose, to get a few spoonfuls of the 
emergency emetic down his throat, and though 
Marian got her fingers well bitten, at the end of an 
hour or so the potatoes had not reappeared, and 
Marian, regarding the thoroughly enraged and 
squawling youngster, reflected that if any harm 
had been going to result from his impromptu 
lunch it would probably have begun to take ef- 
fect before then, and so gave up the struggle. 

Still she was not easy. She watched him 
closely all day. After he got over his fit of tem- 
per he went about his play just as usual. 

Several times in the night the elder sister 
awoke with a start, and, leaning over him, held 
her breath till she heard the regular rising and 
falling of his. All the next day she watched, but 
everything seemed to be perfectly normal, and 
in the afternoon Delbert brought in another 
batch of the potatoes, which they did try on the 
burro. Davie watched with great interest. He 
ISS 


Smugglers’ Island 

said again that they were "‘goo-ood,” but he did 
not offer to eat any himself. Marian thought 
that if her fight the day before had not accom- 
plished the end she worked for, it had probably 
taught Davie to attend more strictly to his own 
business, which might be of great advantage 
some time in the future. 

The burro also said the bulbs, or potatoes as 
Delbert called them, were good, and ate all Del- 
bert would give him; so afterwards they tried 
them themselves. They found them somewhat 
like rather poor sweet potatoes, but they were a 
welcome change for their bill of fare, neverthe- 
less. But they could not find them very often. 

The baby burro was a great comfort to the 
children. Sometimes, when they were quite sure 
his mother was not near, they would let him out 
of the corral, and he would follow them about 
like a dog. They even made him drag home little 
bundles of wood for them sometimes. The other 
burros were quite tame, but not enough so to be 
handled at will. 

Often the children had glimpses of the deer 
and sometimes of the pigs. Marian had been 
afraid at first that these latter might be the wild 

156 


The Jaguar’s Track 

peccaries and more or less dangerous, but, after 
seeing them quite close one time, she concluded 
that they were not, for they certainly looked like 
the domesticated pig except that they were not 
at all fat. 

Always they kept watch of the sea, never for- 
getting that each day might bring rescue, but, 
though many and many a sail passed by in the 
distant Gulf, never a one turned into San Moros. 
Sometimes, indeed, Indian canoes had been seen 
inside the narrow sandbars that divided San 
Moros from the Gulf, hunting turtles maybe, 
but they did not come within signaling distance 
of Smugglers’. 

Marian’s white skirt was flapping itself to 
tatters. Sometimes a heavy wind and rain tore 
it down altogether, and they would find it beaten 
into the sand, but it was always rescued, washed, 
dried, and sent aloft again. 

The rainy days were the dreariest. Then 
there was nothing to do but curl up at the Cave. 
The brush shade they had built in front did not 
avail to keep out the rain. Before the rainy 
season was over they got so sick and tired of 
huddling in the Cave every time it rained that 
157 


Smugglers’ Island 


they would reduce their clothing to a minimum 
and go on with their occupations as if nothing 
were happening. If you really don’t mind getting 
wet, there is a fascination in becoming a part 
of the gray, drizzling landscape. But they pre- 
ferred the sunshine. 

One day, as Jennie tossed down an armload of 
wood beside the fire down by the beach, some- 
thing about her suddenly arrested Marian’s at- 
tention. She looked startled. 

‘‘Jennie,” she said, “come here.” 

Jennie came wondering, while Marian, dish- 
towel in hand, stood motionless, gazing at her. 

“What is it.?” asked the sweet-faced little girl. 

Her sister did not speak for a moment longer, 
then, “Lift up your skirt,” she said. Jennie 
obeyed, revealing her little bare legs. 

Esther, drawing near, lifted her skirt also. 
Marian put down her dish and towel and knelt 
in front of the two for a closer inspection. 

“Jennie,” she said finally, “Jennie, you are 
actually getting fat.” 

“Is she?” questioned Esther. “She isn’t as 
fat as I.” 

Marian took off Jennie’s jacket and inspected 

158 


The Jaguar’s Track 

her arms. Delbert drew near, and Davie came 
up to pass his expert opinion on the subject. 
“You are getting fat,” repeated Marian. 

And it was so. The little face was rosy, the 
cheeks were not hollow now, and the chin was 
not so pointed as it used to be. The little legs, 
though not so plump as those of Esther’s show- 
ing, were really and truly rounded out. 

“Well,” said Delbert, “she has n’t been sick, 
you know, not since we have been here, and we 
have been here ’most a year.” 

“No,” said Marian, “she has not been sick. 
She has not even complained of feeling badly, 
as far as I can remember. Do you ever feel bad 
any more, Jennie?” 

Jennie soberly examined her sensations for a 
moment. 

“I feel hungry,” she said. 

Marian laughed, — a long ringing peal; but 
there were tears in her eyes too as she went back 
to her task. It was stewed “duck” that morn- 
ing, one that Delbert had shot with his bow and 
arrow and then swam out and got. It was stewed 
duck and watermelon, — all they could eat of 
the latter, — and after breakfast they armed 
IS9 


Smugglers’ Island 

themselves with the longest poles they could get 
and went up into the pasture after the fruit of 
the pitalla cactus. 

This was the cactus whose dried bark they 
burned on their spearing expeditions. The fruit 
grows high up and must be poked off with a long 
stick and then have its many spines carefully 
removed before it can be eaten. Fortunately, 
when it is ripe the spines come off easily and the 
center is cool, sweet, and nutritious. They were 
very plentiful, and sometimes they stewed them 
down in the little granite kettle, stirring them 
constantly. This made a thick, syrupy jam that 
the children were very fond of indeed. 

Marian filled her two-quart glass jar and set 
it away till times when there should be none of 
the fresh fruit to be had. 

Conning their prospects over and over, Marian 
often pondered on the chance held out by the 
mainland. With the aid of the log they could 
easily reach it. It was not nearly so far across the 
harbor as it was down to the egg islands. They 
could manage the raft so well now, and they 
could all swim so well, that she was not afraid 
of going anywhere when the water was smooth. 
i6o 


The Jaguar’s Track 

And the mainland was just across the quiet 
little harbor. Suppose they crossed over, what 
was the chance of making their way to some 
ranch or settlement? Delbert could not remem- 
ber just what it was that Clarence had said 
about it, but it was something about there not 
being a house for fifty miles, or was it a hundred? 
— he was not sure. 

A wild tangle of thorny woods, no road or 
path, no compass to guide them! Perhaps a 
lagoon of water, perhaps not ; perhaps plenty of 
pitallaSy perhaps not I Marian always shook her 
head at the end. Here on the Island she was sure 
of food, here was safety and shelter, but out 
there — How long would it be before Davie 
would tire out and she would have to carry him ? 
And then their path to be cut through how 
many miles of thorny brush ? And no certainty 
then that they were not traveling in the wrong 
direction. 

No! And still it drew her, that mainland. 

Perhaps if they could climb to the top of those 
hills they could look out over the land beyond, 
and perhaps some sign of a ranch might be seen 
in the far distance. 

i6i 


Smugglers’ Island 


Many a time she had felt humbly grateful to 
Clarence for the things he had taught them, odds 
and ends of stray knowledge that had come in 
their need to be like precious jewels, — how to 
get oysters and clams, how to sail a boat, how 
to paddle, and many other things. Now she felt 
a little provoked that he had not taught them 
more. 

Why in the wide world could n’t he have told 
Delbert where the nearest habitation was, and 
what it was ? — for it was quite likely that he 
knew. How had he got his information? she 
wondered. 

When she suggested to Delbert that they 
cross over the harbor and climb that highest 
mountain and see what they could see, he was 
very willing; he had thought of it himself. 

So they started out one morning, taking 
water with them, but depending on the pitallas 
they would find for food. They crossed over 
easily enough and did not have much trouble 
in reaching the foot of the mountain. But the 
ascent was not an easy matter. There was cac- 
tus of every description, all interwoven with 
thorny brush, — such a thick, matted under- 
162 


The Jaguar’s Track 

brush that the children were scratched and 
pricked all over. 

Davie was crying lustily before long, and 
Jennie fell and, in her efforts to catch herself, 
rolled a stone on Esther’s foot that showed black 
and blue for many a day afterwards. Sometimes 
there would be a space comparatively clear where 
they could pick their way without encountering 
thorns at every step, and it was in one of these 
that Marian saw that which turned her back and 
kept her feet from the mainland for a year to 
come. 

They had just come up a particularly steep 
part of the mountain, where an outcropping 
ledge added to the difficulties for little climbing 
feet. Above it was space to breathe before one 
had to cope with the next ledge above, which rose 
in an abrupt cliff. There was a pitalla tree there 
with a dozen fruit on it, all opened out red and 
inviting, and Delbert started with the long pole 
to bring them down. 

Marian paused to get a thorn out of Esther’s 
thumb and two from her next-to-the-littlest toe, 
and when that was finished the little girl ran on 
to help the others gather the fruit, and the older 
163 


Smugglers’ Island 

one, rising, put the needle carefully into a little 
case she had and slipped it into her pocket. Her 
supply of needles was limited and she must not 
lose a single one. 



THERE WAS A CAT-TRACK 


Then, as she turned to join the others, her eye 
fell to the ground at her feet, and there, plain 
and distinct, was a cat-track so large that she 
164 


The Jaguar’s Track 

could not have covered it with one of her hands, 
and her hands were not so very small either. 
Fascinated, she stared at it. There was no doubt 
as to what it was. She glanced around, but 
could see no others. The ground chanced to be 
a little soft in that particular spot. But surely 
that one was enough ; there was no need of more. 
What a monster it must have been to have made 
that track! Marian drew in a quick breath and 
then threw up her head and called casually, “O 
children, come back now. We won’t go any 
farther.” 

Delbert, his eyes wide with surprise, came 
quickly with some protesting words, but Marian 
frowned warningly at him and with a tilt of her 
chin indicated the track. His gaze found it in- 
stantly. Indeed, it seemed to Marian to be the 
most conspicuous feature of the landscape. 

He bent his head toward it a moment; then 
his eyes met hers again. For a second they looked 
at each other; there was no need of words. He 
turned back to the pitalla to hurry the others 
back, and Marian saw him casting surreptitious 
glances at the cliff above them. 

The little girls and Davie were so glad to turn 

i6s 


Smugglers’ Island 


back that they asked no questions, taking it for 
granted that the plan was changed because there 
were too many thorns. 

The two older ones were rather silent on the 
way back. They went as quickly as they could, 
but it was not a thing that could be done so very 
quickly, and Marian grew more and more ner- 
vous. Supposing the creature saw them, sup- 
posing — she jerked herself up and mentally 
gave herself a good scolding, but never was she 
so glad as when they left the mountain behind 
and pushed through to where the raft was tied, 
waiting for them. 

As they pushed out and paddled back, calm- 
ness came to her. There were hard things in her 
pathway, dreary things to face, but, compared 
with what might be, her life seemed full of rose- 
buds and sunshine. 

Four pair of bright, loving eyes looked at her; 
four healthy, warm, breathing little bodies would 
lie within reach of her touch that night. Sup- 
pose one were ever missing through her fault 
or carelessness, what pleasure would life hold 
then ? 

Looking back at the face of the mountain, she 

i66 


The Jaguar’s Track 

judged that they had climbed about a third of the 
way up. 

It was well into the afternoon when they got 
home, and a hungry lot they were, too. 

That night Delbert waited till he was sure the 
little ones were asleep and then he cautiously 
spoke Marian’s name. 

She was awake. “What is it?” 

He turned over and raised himself on his elbow. 

“ Do you — do you suppose — it could swim 
over?” 

“I don’t think so,” said she; “it is probably 
strong enough, but it seems to me I have read 
that they never go into the water unless they 
are compelled to. No, I am quite sure it would 
never do that.” 

Delbert drew a long breath of relief. 

“ I know the house kitty never wanted to get 
her toes wet,” he said. 

“No, we are quite safe from it here.” 

“I guess we’d better stay here,” he said. 

They did stay there. When the weather 
turned cold again, they were in better condition 
than they had been the year before. They had 
two rabbit-skin blankets, or robes, that kept out 
167 


Smugglers’ Island 


the chill winds at night, and they had the brush 
shelter in front of the Cave so thick and matted 
and interwoven with banana leaves and strips 
of stalk that the wind did not penetrate that 
either ; so with the bright fire they could be com- 
fortable through the evenings and cold nights. 
In the daytime they were always so active that 
the cold did not much trouble them. Besides, it 
soon warmed up after the sun rose. 

One day, while up in the pasture, hunting food 
and fuel, they noticed an unusually large mescal 
or century-plant. These were very common on 
the island, and Marian had never thought of 
any use they could put them to, but that day 
it suddenly dawned upon her that very similar 
plants were cultivated in some places for the 
rope fiber in the great sharp-pointed leaves. 
Perhaps it would be stronger and better than 
banana fiber. So they dug this one up by the 
roots and dragged it home. 

They chopped off the thick leaves and tossed 
the stump to one side. Then, with some stones, 
the hatchet, and the knives, they thumped and 
pounded and smashed the leaves and worked 
and scraped away till they got the fiber out, and 

i68 


The Jaguar’s Track 

when they finally did get it, it seemed to Marian 
that it really was better than banana fiber. That 
evening they would see what kind of a rope 
could be made out of the new material. So after 
supper they got at it, sitting before their fire at 
the Cave. 

They did not braid their ropes any more ; they 
had learned better than that ; but they both felt 
that their method of rope-making could be vastly 
improved upon, for it was a very slow process at 
best, and the rope finally produced was a very 
uneven thing. 

But ropes they had to have. The raft must 
always be well lashed together, and ropes so 
used soon wore out. Their fences were tied with 
ropes in many places. They never went on any 
excursion without taking some ropes along, for 
they were constantly wanting them, chiefly, 
perhaps, to tie about their bundles of wood. A 
very large bundle of heavy sticks could be quite 
easily dragged home with a rope. 

In the first place they had had only Delbert’s 
hair rope and had used it for everything, but 
now they were trying to be as saving of it as pos- 
sible, never using it when another one would 
169 


Smugglers’ Island 


suffice, but Delbert always carried it with him, 
coiled up and tied at his waist. 

When they finished working out the fiber it 
was clean, straight, and pretty as it lay in a neat 
pile. 

"‘Now, how is the best way to do this.^^” asked 
Marian in a businesslike tone. 

“I have been thinking,” said Delbert. “Re- 
member that time I went with Clarence and his 
father after a load of corn.? Well, at one place 
where we stopped there was an old Indian mak- 
ing ropes. I’ve been trying for a long time to 
remember how he did it. Dear me ! ” he exclaimed 
in disgust, “why did n’t I pay ’tention ? Clarence 
explained it all to me, but I just let it go into one 
ear and out the other. I was n’t interested in 
making ropes then.” 

“Can’t you remember anything about it at 
all.?” asked his sister sympathetically. “If you 
could just remember a point or two, we could 
work it out from that, maybe. Davie, don’t you 
want to put a stick of wood on the fire ? Not that 
one, dear; that one won’t burn,” for Davie had 
picked up the stump of the mescal plant and 
heaved it into the center of the flames. 

170 


The Jaguar’s Track 

“Yes, will burn,” asserted he complacently, 
and returned to his play of fitting little clam- 
shells together and laying them in a row. 

Jennie poked the stump to one side and raked 
the coals and hot ashes over it. “We’ll dry it 
out, and then maybe it’ll burn, Davie dear,” 
she said. 

“Here,” said Esther, gingerly handing over 
a piece of particularly thorny pitalla ; this 
will make a light.” 

“Why, you see,” said Delbert, “they had the 
fiber — este they call it — all in a pile, but tan- 
gled as if they must have tangled it themselves. 
They had that part of it all done when we got 
there, but I remember Clarence said they laid it 
on something — a board, I guess — and hooked 
one end over a nail to hold it, and scraped it 
with an old machete blade fixed in a crooked 
stick, — scraped it and scraped it till there was 
n’t anything left of the leaf but the fiber; then, 
I s’pose, they tangled it all up next; anyway, 
the man had a thing he whirled and he backed 
off across the yard, a-whirling it and whirling it 
and spinning a strand of rope out from that pile 
of esteJ^ 


Smugglers’ Island 


‘^Was it a wheel he whirled?” 

“No, it was n’t. It was just a little stick thing 
he held in one hand, — two sticks, one of them 
whirled on the other.” 

“Give me your knife,” said Marian, “and, 
Jennie, hand me that piece of driftwood there 
by you ; no, the other one. Was the stick he had 
as long as that, Delbert?” 

“Just about, but it was nice and smooth.” 

“This will be nice and smooth when I get 
through with it. You just tangle some of that 
fiber the way the old Indian had his.” 

Delbert began picking it apart and dropping 
it careless and crisscross. 

“You can just bet,” he burst out, “you can 
just bet your boots^ if I ever have a chance to 
see anybody else doing anything again. I’ll 
see what they are doing; don’t care what it 
is.” 

“That is the best way,” admitted Marian. 
“There are a whole lot of things, simple things, 
that would help us a great deal if we only knew 
how to do them. Can’t you remember anything 
more Clarence said about this?” 

Delbert wrinkled his brows. “There was 
172 


The Jaguar’s Track 

something about a balance-wheel. What is a 
balance-wheel ? ” 

‘'I don’t know that I can explain it, though 
I know what it is myself. Maybe I can show 
you pretty soon. Hand me that little smooth 
stick about a foot and a half long, that one with 
the knob on the end. Yes, I think that will do 
nicely.” 

She had shaved and whittled the piece of 
driftwood till it was about a foot long, an inch 
thick, and two and one half inches wide at one 
end and tapering to a point at the other, which 
point she whittled into a button-like knob. Just 
back of the knob she made a hole big enough to 
slip the second stick into. It slipped down, but 
was prevented from slipping clear off by the 
knob on the end of it. Then, grasping this second 
stick, she began to whirl it so that the driftwood 
stick whirled round and round on it. 

‘There!” she cried; “does that look anything 
like it, Delbert.?” 

“It does! it does! That ’s it exactly ! How did 
you guess ? ” 

“I didn’t guess. I have seen one myself 
somewhere, but did n’t know what it was for. 

173 


Smugglers’ Island 


I think I saw a couple of them down at Doha 
Luisa’s one morning when I went down for milk. 
But the proof of the pudding is in the eating. 
Let’s see how this complicated machine will 
work.” 

She twisted a little of the tangled fiber round 
the knob on the driftwood stick and began to 
twirl. Of course it promptly twisted the fiber 
into a little strand. 

‘'Here, Delbert,” she said, “you whirl this 
while I spin out the strand, or else it will all 
twist up in bunches.” Sitting down by the little 
pile of fibers, she grasped the twisting strand in 
one hand so that it should spin out of an even 
size. “Now, whirl away,” she said, “and back 
off as fast as it spins out.” 

“This is just the way they did it,” said Del- 
bert. “ I remember now, there were two of them ; 
one whirled the stick, and the other sat down 
and pulled the strand out of the pile of fiber just 
as you are doing it.” And he backed off, whirl- 
ing vigorously, until the little pile of tangled 
fibers was all used up. 

“There,” she said, “that is a lot better than 
twisting it just with our fingers, as we have been 

174 


The Jaguar’s Track 

doing with the banana fiber, and it certainly 
beats braiding all hollow. We can twist and 
twist and twist, and then we can put as many 
strands as we want to into the rope.” 

They worked that night till they had used up 
all their fiber, and then went to bed, agreeing 
to go next day and gather more mescal plants. 

In the morning, when Marian raked open her 
fire, she raked out the stump of the mescal plant. 
It was brown and juicy. She began to examine 
it. 

‘‘Looks good. Doesn’t it?” she said to the 
children, who were rolling out of the Cave. 

Esther came suddenly forward and bent over 
it. “It is good, too,” she declared. “That is the 
stuff they had down at Julianita’s one day. They 
were eating it, and said for Jennie and me to eat 
some too, but Jennie would n’t touch it ’cause she 
was ’fraid it would make us drunk.” 

“You didn’t eat any either,” remonstrated 
Jennie. 

“I did n’t ’cause you did n’t.” 

Marian was cutting the stump in pieces. They 
all tried it. It was sweet and good, though there 
was a great deal of string and fiber to be dis- 
I7S 


Smugglers’ Island 

carded after the sweetness and goodness had 
been chewed out and swallowed. 

‘‘But it is what they make mescal of; isn’t 
it.?” asked Delbert. 

“I presume it is; in fact, it must be, only this 
wild plant does n’t grow just the same as the 
tame ones, maybe; but it must be that- they 
cook the centers something like this and mash 
them and let them ferment and distill it some 
way. It seems to me I have heard how it was 
done, but I was like you about the ropes; I did 
n’t pay enough attention to remember. It cer- 
tainly never occurred to me that there was any- 
thing about it that was any good to us. I think 
we owe Davie a vote of thanks.” 

“Clarence ought to have told us,” said Esther 
reproachfully. 

So another food was added to their list, and 
after a little practice they could turn out mescal 
fiber ropes that were so smooth and well twisted 
that they could be used to lasso with. 

The two little girls had learned to lasso bur- 
ros, but Marian’s aim was not much better than 
Davie’s. She did not practice the art as her little 
sisters did. She whittled out a big crochet-hook, 
176 


The Jaguar’s Track 

though, and then twisted a very fine strand of 
fiber and crocheted a bag of it that was very 
useful to put things into on their travels. When- 
ever there was a storm, they would always go to 
Bonanza Cove afterwards to collect the riches 
found there. 

These consisted mostly of driftwood, and the 
small pieces could go into the bag, while the big 
ones were tied together and carried or dragged 
home. But sometimes other things came, bot- 
tles empty but corked, — so many of them 
that Marian concluded all sailors must be sad 
drinkers, — bits of board, an old leaky bucket, 
and, best of all, this second year, a broken 
oar. 

^T hope it did n’t incommode any one much 
when it broke,” Marian said, ‘‘but we certainly 
can make good use of it.” It was just barely 
long enough to use as a paddle. 

When it came nesting-time again, they were 
right on hand at the bird islands. They would 
put the eggs into the bag and the demijohn and 
a few young squabs into the barrel, and they 
were so much better equipped for the cruise 
than they were the first time they made the 
177 


Smugglers’ Island 


trip that it did not seem such a big under- 
taking, and they could go oftener. 

Once, while out on one of the sandbars, hunt- 
ing clams, they saw something farther out still, 
something dark on the water. Delbert thought 
it was probably only a mass of seaweed, but he 
wanted to go and see. So, as the water was very 
smooth that morning, they paddled the raft 
out, though they had never been so near the 
Gulf before since their arrival. 

They found the dark spot to be another log, 
much smaller and somewhat shorter than the 
one in their raft, but they took it in tow just 
the same. 

They found some turtle-eggs on those sunny 
sandbars that second summer. Sometimes they 
saw the turtles themselves, but they were never 
able to catch one, though Delbert was very en- 
thusiastic in the pursuit. 

That summer they had vegetables; and how 
good they were ! The turnips and carrots grew 
splendidly, and the children devoured them both 
cooked and raw. The green peppers, for some 
reason, did not flourish so well till the next year, 
but they were eaten with a relish also. The let- 
178 


The Jaguar’s Track 

tuce, when transplanted and cared for, set in 
solid heads that reminded them of cabbage, and 
the children ate it like so many hungry little 
calves eating clover, and Marian often boiled 
a head of it with a fowl, and they voted it 
fine. 

The bananas bore good fruit now, large, well- 
filled-out bunches. Marian dried some. Among 
the edible fruits of the Island was the wild to- 
mato. They found very few of these, and the 
fruit was very small, scarcely larger than the tip 
of Marian’s little finger, but when the seeds 
were planted in their garden they came up and 
did well, plenty of water increasing the size and 
quality of the fruit somewhat. The plants bore 
abundantly, and the flavor was good. They 
put them in soups or stewed them by them- 
selves sometimes, sweetening them with the 
juice boiled from the pitallas, or, at rare inter- 
vals, with wild honey. But the greater portion 
of them were eaten raw. 

There was certainly no lack of food now. 
Delbert did not set traps any more. He could 
shoot so well with his bow and arrow that he did 
not need traps to secure a rabbit when one was 
179 


Smugglers" Island 


wanted, and the little girls could sometimes hit 
a hopping mark as well as he. 

They lost the hook one day, some big fish 
making off with it, and they caught their fish 
entirely with the spear after that. 

They were milking two burros. Jacky, being 
thoroughly weaned, was turned out of the corral 
and went where he pleased, and he generally 
pleased to go with the children whenever they 
were going where he could follow. Jennie was 
really plump now, strong and healthy, but not 
so strong or so healthy as Esther, who, solid 
little urchin, could follow Delbert very closely 
in all his exploits. She could run as far without 
getting tired, she could shoot an arrow with al- 
most as accurate an aim, and she did not always 
miss the fish she aimed her spear at. 

She was a splendid little swimmer, better 
even than Marian, and it used to seem to Marian 
that she was the prettiest little mermaid any 
one ever set eyes on. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE MUGGYWAH 

The time came when Marian had to face the 
problem of clothing. Every bathing-suit was 
worn to rags, and everything else was so near it 
that there was no trusting anything. When the 
weather was cold they had their wraps, and these 
covered a multitude of tattered sins, and none 
of the tribe save Marian herself ever wore any- 
thing into the water any more, but even with 
such economy there was no dodging the issue 
any longer. Unless she were willing that her 
flock should revert to extreme savagery in cos- 
tumes, something had to be done. 

Her first attempt was to crochet clothing out 
of fiber, but it took so long to make a garment 
that way that she was always eagerly on the 
alert for other modes. She remembered that 
soaking skins in wet ashes would remove the 
hair. Old Mr. Easton had said so once. So she 
tried it with some rabbit-skins. It worked veiy 
well. After being packed in a little hollow of the 

i8i 


Smugglers’ Island 


rock with ashes and water all night, the fur 
was easily pulled off. Then, when the ashes 
were washed off and the skin was nearly dry, 
it could be rubbed and worked till it was soft 
and pliable and Marian could begin dress- 
making. 

Rabbits were getting scarce in their immedi- 
ate vicinity, however, and the search for better 
hunting-grounds took them back to the main- 
land again. They did not cross the harbor and 
go to climbing mountains this time, however. 
They took the raft down the bay and followed 
one of the winding esteros that led between 
mango bushes, off and off, farther and farther, 
twisting and turning and growing narrower and 
more and more shallow till they came out into 
a comparatively level country, with no hills 
near at hand, but great stretches of mud flats 
and sandbanks and miles and miles of pitalla and 
scrubby brush. 

They took the raft as far as they could and 
tied it to some bushes and proceeded afoot. They 
wandered several miles, taking care not to lose 
their bearings. They found wagon-loads of fine 
pitalla and some other wood, rabbits galore, and 
182 


The Muggywah 

a few stone or flint arrowheads, but no sign 
whatever of human habitation. 

Delbert shot eight big jack rabbits, Esther 
got three, and Jennie two, thirteen in all. They 
decided that the unluckiness of the number was 
for the rabbits, not for them. They took only 
the skins home with them, for they did not need 
the meat, and they had plenty of other things 
to carry back to the raft. 

They loaded it with all the good dry pitalla 
they could pile up and tie on. Down close by 
the water, half buried in the salty mud, Delbert 
found a stone hatchet. Once before he had found 
a broken one, but this was perfect. He held it 
in his hand with a dreamy look on his face. 
‘‘How long ago do you s’pose it was, Marian, 
when they made ’em and used ’em like this one ? ” 

“Mercy! I have no idea; hundreds of years at 
the least and like as not a million.” 

“Well, anyway, it’s mine now,” he said de- 
cidedly, as he dropped it into the fiber bag. 

“Yes, I think you can keep it with a clear 
conscience. Now, get on here, all of you. Never 
mind that crab, Davie; you don’t need it, any- 
way.” 


Smugglers’ Island 

They did not get home till the moon was well 
up. 

There was probably stuff growing at her hand 
that would have given those skins a good tan, if 
Marian had only known what it was and how to 
use it, but she did not. The soaking in ashes did 
fairly well; only if the skin got well wet after- 
wards, it would dry stiff unless it was worked 
and kept pliable while drying. Of course there 
was no strength in the rabbit-skins. They tore 
easily, but they were, nevertheless, a material of 
which Marian could make simple clothes, so that 
they should not be entirely naked if any one ever 
did come along. She made dresses for the little 
girls first, the simplest style she could think of, 
eliminating sleeves altogether and not continu- 
ing the skirts below the knees. 

She crocheted belts of fiber, and used it also 
to sew with, for her supply of thread was very 
low indeed. There was no need of buttons ; the 
little girls just slipped the dresses over their 
heads, slipped their arms through the generous 
armholes, belted the slight fullness at the waist, 
and there you were — pretty as pictures, too. 

The only foreign articles in the construction 
184 


The Muggywah 

of those robes were the belt-buckles, which 
Marian had contrived out of the fasteners of 
their old stocking-supporters. Of course the 
elastic and the stockings had worn out long ago. 
Every one was barefoot now except Marian, 
who was near enough to it, but the soles of her 
shoes had been very thick and good, and though 
the tops were worn out she still managed to use 
the bottoms as sandals and thus had some pro- 
tection to her feet, which somehow she could 
never get toughened as the children’s were. 

After several more trips up the estero and more 
or less success in hunting, they had enough rab- 
bit-skins to make Marian a dress too. She made 
it just as she had the other two, belting it with 
her red leather belt, which she had worn for 
several years, but which was still as strong as 
new. Her dress came a little below her knees. 

The rabbit-skins were not at all satisfactory 
for Delbert. He was in and out of the water so 
constantly, and climbed and scrambled over 
the rocks so much, that a garment that must not 
be wet and that would not stand strain was not 
at all what he needed. 

He told Marian that all he wanted was a loin- 
i8S 


Smugglers’ Island 


cloth such as other Indians wore, but Marian 
was not at all sure how loin-cloths were made or 
worn. She thought about cutting off an end of 
one of the blankets, but rather hated to do that; 
so she worked away with her hook and the ba- 
nana fiber till she had evolved what satisfied 
him. And when he donned it and strode along, 
shirtless and barelegged, his hair stringing over 
his shoulders and kept out of his eyes by a red 
rag tied around his forehead, and the rag stuck 
full of feathers, he certainly looked not unlike 
an aborigine of some sort. 

Davie declined even a loin-cloth; simple na- 
ture unadorned suited him to a T. 

Thus, between the bananas and the rabbits, 
Marian managed to keep her family clothed. 

They took many trips to the mainland. There 
were several esteros that led far inland, and they 
explored them all. They became accustomed 
to going without water. They always had some 
with them, but it was such a bother to take a lot 
of bottles along every time they stirred out from 
home that they trained themselves not to want 
a drink every little while. They would take a 
big drink before they left the Island in the morn- 
186 


The Muggywah 

ing, and often no one would take another till 
noon. Also they learned to go without much 
food in the middle of the day and to eat that 
little raw. 

Children are children the world over, I fancy. 
These had their little games and plays, which 
Marian was always ready to foster. The little 
girls and Davie used to put their dolls to bed 
every night, tucking them in as carefully as 
they did themselves. Also the dolls were usually 
carried with them, if they were making a trip 
of any great length, lest they should get lone- 
some and frightened if left too long alone. They 
traveled in a little fiber bag Jennie crocheted, 
and were generally hung up on the mast where 
they were well out of the way of the water, and 
if they went inland Jennie would wear the bag 
hung about her neck. 

When they went in swimming, the children 
would play they were fishes and other water 
creatures and would imitate the different charac- 
teristics as well as they could. Davie’s favorite 
characterization was that of the crab. He would 
run sideways on all fours and pinch the other 
children’s toes. He played this so strenuously 

187 


Smugglers’ Island 

that he often made himself something of a nui- 
sance and had to be tactfully guided into other 
channels of thought. 

They were all perfectly delighted when Mar- 
ian taught them how to stay under water as 
long as they pleased. On one of their inland trips 
they had found some large hollow weed-stalks. 
They played with them at first by simply blow- 
ing bubbles in the water and drawing up mouth- 
fuls of water which they blew out at each other, 
but when Marian showed them that by holding 
one of the hollow tubes in the mouth one could 
stay under water as long as he remembered to 
breathe always through the mouth and to keep 
the top of the tube above the water, they in- 
vented all kinds of games that the new trick 
could be used in. 

Delbert could do it best. He declared he 
could lie under the water and go to sleep, it was 
so easy. Marian did not advise him to try it. 
‘‘You might get to snoring and drown before 
you could wake up,” she told him. 

Their novel clothing gave new impetus to 
their Indian play. There was some discussion 
at first as to which tribe they belonged to. 
i88 


The Muggywah 

They could not seem to recognize themselves 
as belonging to any they had yet heard of and 
they finally invented a new one and called 
themselves the tribe of the Hawks. Marian 
had been calling Delbert that for some time, 
he was always so keenly on the alert for any- 
thing to eat. And when he perched himself 
on a rock and fished patiently, — that was 
before they lost the hook, — he reminded her 
of nothing so much as a fish hawk ready to 
swoop. 

They spent more and more time on the trips 
inland. They began to skirt the hills a little. 
Davie was so big now that he did not seem to tire 
out any quicker than Jennie, and the little feet 
were all so tough that hard roads did not daunt 
them. 

They saw no more cat-tracks, but Marian 
never forgot that one, and because of it kept the 
tribe away from the high rocky hills and the 
thick growth. 

The country beyond the largest estero became 
familiar to them for several miles. There was a 
certain lagoon there that they liked to go to in 
the rainy season, — and there was no lagoon 
189 


Smugglers’ Island 

there except in the rainy season. There were 
beautiful blue pond-lilies in it. Marian dug 
up some roots and planted them on the home 
Island. 

They frequently found arrowheads and some- 
times other stones, broken, but showing the work 
of human hands upon them, all of which spoke 
with certainty of bygone people, but never any- 
thing of modern times. Near the lagoon were sev- 
eral low hills, and on these they found the cotton- 
tree. This tree in its season produces big pods 
full of silky white cotton, and though the yield 
is not so very abundant, nor the quality so very 
fine, yet they saved every pod they could find, 
Delbert and Esther often climbing up for those 
that could not be reached from the ground with 
a pole. 

"‘Some day I will invent a spinning-wheel and 
a loom,” said Marian, “and we will make cloth.” 
And the children, remembering the rope-making 
machine she had made, never doubted her abil- 
ity. 

Once, when they were about two miles from 
the end of the estero, they found a good-sized 
tree that had blown down some years before on 
190 


The Muggywah 

the side of a little hill. It was larger than any 
tree growing there now and seemed to have been 
alone among its dwarfish neighbors. It was too 
heavy to be dragged all that distance, but if they 
could manage to chop off the few limbs and the 
roots that stuck up so high, they could roll it 
down to the estero and float it home. 

It was a big task, but because they had plenty 
of time on their hands and no pressing social 
duties, and also because they needed that log in 
their business, they made trip after trip, start- 
ing at daylight and not getting home till nearly 
dark, chopped and chopped with the hatchet un- 
til they had the log smooth enough to roll, and 
then rolled it over and over all that distance 
and floated it home in triumph. 

Then they set about improving the raft. The 
new log was a little crooked, but otherwise was 
about the equal of the one they had captured 
out in the bay. The three logs together would 
be much better than the raft as it was. Del- 
bert’s idea was to lash them together as they 
had been doing, but Marian had thought of 
an improvement, though it almost seemed as 
if it could not be done with their limited facili- 
191 


Smugglers’ Island 


ties. They had already accomplished so many 
tasks that seemed hard, however, and Delbert 
was such a bright and willing helper, and the 
little girls were always so willing to contribute 



CHOPPED AND CHOPPED UNTIL THEY HAD THE LOG 
SMOOTH ENOUGH TO ROLL 


their share ^to any labor, that she told Delbert 
that at any rate they would have a try at ship- 
building. 

Long and longingly she looked at the old canoe, 
192 


The Muggywah 

but in the end left it where it was in the corral 
fence. She could think of no way to combine it 
with the logs to make a more serviceable craft. 

The new log was rolled up on the beach beside 
the one they had found out on the water, and 
then the raft was taken to pieces, and the log in 
the middle of it was also rolled up on the beach. 
After they were all fixed in just the right posi- 
tion, they were kept in place by stakes driven 
into the ground. 

The next thing was to make a new tool. Among 
the scraps of iron found on the little egg island 
was one about an inch in diameter and nearly 
three feet long when straightened out. It was 
round, an immense bolt maybe, but rusted and 
bent and twisted. What Marian did first was to 
heat it to straighten it out. 

It was very hard to handle it when it was 
hot. She had an assortment of green sticks and 
matted-fiber holders for this purpose. As when 
they were making the fish-spear, they used a flat 
rock for aa anvil and the hatchet for a hammer, 
and after many heatings and hammerings they 
got the iron straight with a blunt point on one 
end. 


193 


Smugglers’ Island 

But straightening the bar was only the be- 
ginning of the work. She kejpt the fire hot and 
heated the bar time after time, and burned three 
holes entirely through the two outside logs and 
corresponding ones well into the middle log. 
Then they took six of the toughest stakes they 
could find, whittled them straight and smooth 
to the right size, and drove them in through the 
burned holes like huge nails. Next they burned 
and whittled a big hole down into the center log 
as a socket for the mast. Then they picked out 
the best of the poles that had been in the raft 
and set it in place and drove in wedges to hold it 
solid. This got rid of the clumsy lashings and 
proppings, besides giving them a straight in- 
stead of a crooked mast, and it was not difficult 
then to rig up a sail that could be easily raised 
and lowered, using, of course, one of the blan- 
kets for a sail as before. 

The platform that they burned their pitalla on 
when spearing next demanded their attention. 
It was too clumsy and was always needing re- 
pairs. Once out on the salt reef they had found 
a dead sea turtle half buried in the sand. They 
had fished it out and fastened it with stakes 


194 


The Muggywah 

where it would not be washed away, though 
every tide would cover it, and the elements com- 
bined with the scavengers of the sea to clean the 
shell for them. With rocks and the hatchet they 
broke away the under part of the shell, and the 
top part, about two and a half feet in diam- 
eter, curved and dished, would hold the pitalla 
nicely. 

Two stout, widespread crotches were cut and 
driven tightly into burned holes at one end of 
the projecting middle log, so that they sup- 
ported the inverted turtle-shell. It did not, 
however, rest firmly enough till Marian had wired 
it to the crotches by means of the bail from the 
old wooden bucket, which was passed through 
little holes burned in the shell. 

Away off up in the pasture they had found a 
place where the soil partook of the nature of 
clay. They brought some from there, mixed it 
to the right consistency and spread a coating all 
over the inside of the turtle-shell. It dried with- 
out much cracking, and the fire would harden it. 
This was a vast improvement over the old plat- 
form, which, in spite of their best efforts had 
always been a trifle wobbly and evinced a ten- 
I9S 


Smugglers’ Island 


dency to spill the fuel off into the water at the 
slightest provocation. 

Delbert thought they had their task about 
finished now, but Marian had a great deal more 
to do to it still. She wanted to build on the other 
end a platform of some sort, where they could 
put things and have them stay dry. By burning 
holes and driving in stakes and then weaving in 
with small, tough green sticks, she succeeded in 
making that end of the raft look not unlike a 
huge basket. Then by filling that same basket 
with dried seaweed and such material, which was 
bulky but light, she had a place where things 
could be carried out of reach of the waves and 
where a little girl could lie down if she was tired. 
Of course, the waves slopped up and soaked 
through the seaweed to some extent when the 
raft was in use, but when it was moored quietly 
to the beach the hot sun dried it out pretty well. 

When the raft was finished, their third rainy 
season on the island was past. Marian was learn- 
ing, and the others along with her, something 
of the eternal patience of the universe. So long 
as she was accomplishing her purpose, she did 
not count much on the time it took to do it. 

196 


The Muggywah 

They all thought the new raft was such a 
beauty that it deserved a name. Marian sug- 
gested everything she could think of from ‘'Fleet 
Wings” to “Annabel Lee,” but they finally de- 
cided on Jennie’s choice, which was Muggy- 
wah.” She said it was Indian and meant some- 
thing very safe and strong that nobody could 
conquer. Where she got the name or the notion 
Marian could not imagine, and she herself could 
not tell, but the Muggywah became one of the 
family forthwith. 

Out where the center log projected, at the 
turtle-shell end, Marian burned the name. “Oh, 
we are getting wonderfully aristocratic,” she 
told the children. “It is not every family that 
can have their own private yacht.” 

They went on a big spearing expedition when 
the Muggywah was finished. The tide was just 
right, and the fish were plentiful. They got 
three enormous red snappers and a lot of smaller 
fry, and it was the most satisfactory trip they 
had ever made. 

Marian sat Turk-fashion on the seaweed deck 
and steered with the broken oar, which had been 
spliced to make it better to handle^ and Davie 
197 


Smugglers’ Island 

was in front of her, dry and warm. When he 
went to sleep, it was the easiest thing in the 
world to tie him safely, for some of the stakes of 
the basketwork had been left high for that es- 
pecial purpose, and then he did not have to be 
watched. 

Jennie took the spear first, and when, after a 
while, she grew tired and gave the spear to 
Esther, who had been teasing for it, she too 
crept back and crawled in with Davie under the 
shawls and lay on her back, watching the bright 
stars above and the mango bushes, weird and 
grotesque with the flare of the pitalla fire and 
the backward swirl of the smoke. When the 
game became an old story to Esther, she yielded 
the spear to Delbert, and, after replenishing the 
fire from the fuel in the barrel, she too curled 
down on the deck at Jennie’s feet. 

Delbert and Marian then took turns at steer- 
ing and spearing, and only turned the Muggy- 
wah back toward the pier when the fuel was all 
gone. 

Along with their feathers the children took 
up other modes of Indian decoration of their 
persons. They did not quite come to war paint, 
198 


The Muggywah 

but they wore long strings of beads, principally 
of the guaymuchel seeds. These are flat black 
seeds that grow embedded in a thick sweetish 
pith enclosed in a pod which grows on a big 
tree. The pithy part is highly prized by the 
Indians for eating, and the Island Hawks gath- 
ered them for that, and saved the seeds, which, 
when soft, are easily strung. 

Then there were the tiny many-colored clam- 
shells that they found so plentiful on the beaches 
of the bird islands. They bored holes in these 
with Marian’s big fat darning-needle and strung 
them into valuable wampum belts. There were 
other seeds and beans that they strung, but 
these were the staples. 

One Christmas, Marian gave Jennie a string 
of bone beads. She had found a number of the 
bones of some big bird, long, smooth, and hollow, 
and she whittled them into little sections and 
strung them on a string of her own hair. That 
same year her gift to Esther was a headdress of 
pink feathers taken from a dead bird that Del- 
bert had found washed up on the beach one 
morning. To Delbert she gave a gay feather- 
trimmed quiver for his arrows and two new 
199 


Smugglers’ Island 


arrow-points of bone, and to Davie a number of 
little toys whittled out of driftwood. The chil- 
dren had remembered their kindergarten lore 
that year, and each one made Marian a little 
basket. They were rather loose and ill-shapen, 
but they were the forerunners of better ones. 

With the Mugg3w^ah their food problem was 
still further simplified. They had lived so long 
on the Island now that they knew the tides, 
when they would be high and when low, and 
always took these into consideration along with 
the wind. With their gay striped blanket for a 
sail and a paddle of some sort in the hands of 
each, with their trips planned to have the tide 
in their favor as much as possible, they could 
accomplish much more business than formerly. 
They could take a dishpanful of boiled-down 
sea-water out to the salt reef, put it into the 
rock-hollows there, where the sun finished the 
evaporation for them, and maybe gather up a 
dish of dry and quite passably clean salt to take 
back with them; go on to some other place and 
gather a lot of clams for dinner, or perhaps 
oysters; go back again to Smugglers’, put up 
the salt and attend to the clams, and strike 


200 


The Muggywah 

off across the bay toward some distant esterOy 
which would lead back into good pitalla conntryy 
or perhaps to a panal which they had seen some 
days before and been too busy to gather in ; and 
by night they would have accomplished several 
times as much as when they had crept over the 
water on the old log with only driftwood and 
poles for paddles, or else had had to stay on land 
because the water was a little rough. With the 
new firm mast which was in no danger of falling 
down, they could utilize a wind that had been 
much too strong for them to tamper with before, 
and with the children able to swim like little 
fishes, they could brave a possible capsize or 
tumble overboard. Of course Marian was not 
going to risk the great waves outside in the 
Gulf, and when the wind blew the water into 
breakers on the Island, white and thunderous, 
she kept her tribe busy in the pasture or the 
garden. 

Some time during each day they took their 
bath and swim. If the water was too rough on 
the seaward side, they took it in the harbor, 
where it was quieter, but there were not so very 
many days when it was too rough. Marian 
201 


Smugglers’ Island 


would keep her eye on Davie if they were out 
very far, but she had little anxiety about the 
others. Sometimes they took the Mugg5rwah out 
into deep water and anchored her with a stone, 
and had their swim from there. 

They had had no storm yet equal to the one 
on the night of their arrival on the Island, but 
during the fall after the Muggywah was finished 
they had one which came nearer to it than any 
in the three years. It lasted two days and two 
nights and certainly gave them a miserable time. 
They turned the little burros out with their 
mothers to save feeding and milking, and they 
collected vegetables and bananas in the Cave, 
which they ate raw, not being able to have a fire 
to cook by. Indeed, their precious embers were 
all put out, so that they had to start anew with 
the fire-sticks when the storm was over. 

They snuggled up in the Cave, not going out 
except when it seemed absolutely necessary, and 
Marian sang over all the songs she knew and 
which she had sung to them on rainy days a 
hundred times before, — or at least it seemed so 
to her, — and told over all the stories they 
called for and racked her brains for new ones. 


202 


The Muggywah 

The Cave had never been a roomy chamber, 
and now it reminded Marian of a nest that is 
filled to overflowing with nestlings which are 
ready to fly. Neither of the little girls could 
stand up in it now, not even in the widest part, 
and Davie, fast growing up into a big, strong 
boy, had to be very careful. 

The first day dragged, the second crawled, 
and in the afternoon Marian delivered herself of 
the emphatic remark, “We are not going to live 
in this Cave through another rainy season; we 
will build us a house!” 

The children were all struck dumb for a sec- 
ond and then fired volleys of comments and 
questions. 

“You see,” said Marian when quiet reigned 
again, “this Cave was all right in the first place. 
You were all little then, and it was the best 
we could do, but now, — why, see! Delbert is 
stretching up nearly as tall as I am; Jennie and 
Esther take up as much room as all four of you 
did then; we spread out so we can’t keep our- 
selves covered from the mosquitoes; and I am 
sick and tired of camping out forever; I want a 
home.” 


203 


Smugglers’ Island 

'‘But, Marian,” said Jennie, "don’t you think 
some one will find us now before long?” 

"I think,” said Marian, "that there is no like- 
lihood of any one but Indians coming into San 
Moros. There is nothing to bring any one else 
here, and, as you know, we have seen very few 
canoes in all the time we have been here. I don’t 
understand it ; it seems as if they would all know 
about there being bananas and good water here 
and be coming all the time, but evidently there 
are no settlements anywhere near, and the poor 
Indian is not going very far from home in his 
canoe. Clarence must have found out about 
the place from some old Indian who, I suppose, 
had happened to stumble on to it somehow, and, 
as far as I know, Clarence was the only white 
person who ever came here, but” — she paused 
and looked impressively at the children — 
"some day, when we can sail the Muggywah a 
great deal better than we do now, when Davie 
is big and strong enough so that I dare risk him 
out there on the Gulf waves, and when the rest 
of you are bigger and stronger than you are now, 
we’ll stock the Muggywah up with provisions 
and we’ll go back to the Port ourselves. I don’t 
204 


The Muggywah 

dare risk it overland and I shall not try it by 
water so long as there is any risk in it, but if no 
one comes for us before then, the time will come 
when you children will be so big that we can go 
in safety, and then we’ll go.” 

“ I ’d be willing to take some risk,” said Del- 
bert moodily. 

‘‘I’m not,” said Marian. “Four children 
mother left in my care when she went to Guay- 
mas that time, four I shall return to her. Your 
lives are safe here. If I lost one of you in trying 
to get back, I should never be happy again.” 

“How well shall we have to swim.?” asked 
Esther. 

“ Better than any of us do now,” said Marian. 
“We must be able to swim so well that if the 
Muggywah should swamp or turn turtle out 
there, we could all get to shore if we had to. It 
is a good deal, but we can do it in time. Clar- 
ence could have done it, but it may take us sev- 
eral years yet. We don’t dare go out of the bay 
yet, and we all get tired out if we have much hard 
paddling to do ; but to go to the Port in the Mug- 
gywah would take several days. Unfortunately, 
she does n’t go as swiftly as the launch did.” 

20S 


Smugglers’ Island 


“ If Clarence was here, he ’d make her go bet- 
ter than she does,” said Delbert. 

"‘I think he would,” returned Marian; "‘but 
what we don’t know about sailing her we must 
learn ; and meantime, I am tired of living in this 
little hole in the rocks, and the next job on hand 
is to build a house. We can do it.” 

The first thing to do usually is to select a site. 
Esther thought a good place to put the new 
dwelling in would be down by the pier, where 
the smugglers had had their house. It would 
be close to the water and the garden. But that 
took them out of sight of the bay and the dis- 
tant Gulf, and mosquitoes and gnats were apt 
to be plentiful there at night, and so it was not 
to be thought of. Jennie, too, still retained her 
fear of the water during storms, and the higher 
they could get the better it would suit her. One 
thing about the Cave which they meant to im- 
prove upon in their new habitation was the fact 
that their view was cut off by the big rock in 
front. To see what might be out on the water 
they had to go clear past it, out of the house, 
as one might say. Of course, it sheltered them 
from wind and rain to a great extent, but Marian 
206 


The Muggywah 

wanted to be sheltered from the elements and 
still be able to see out on the water. 

From the mound that had been the smug- 
glers’ house projected a crotched timber, and 
Marian suggested that they dig it out for their 
new dwelling, though she had not yet decided 
where to build nor what material to use. 

They made some wooden rakes and shovels, — 
that is, they called them that, — and these did a 
little better for the work than the old dig-spoon 
and the little spade. As they dug and scraped, 
Marian told them of the ancient cities which 
lay buried for centuries and then were some- 
times discovered and excavated and of the won- 
derful things found in them. The children were 
very much interested, and straightway they 
ceased to be Indians and became a band of emi- 
nent scientists who had discovered an ancient, 
oh, a very ancient, city. It was very interest- 
ing indeed, for, when you came to think of it, 
there was really no knowing what you might or 
might not find. 

They finally got the timber out. It was shorter 
than Marian had hoped, but then the children 
wanted to go on and dig the whole mound over. 

207 


Smugglers’ Island 

They had found a few bits of broken pottery, 
which they seemed to think very wonderful, and 
they hoped for more riches. 

So, as it seemed a pity to veto anything so 
exciting, Marian consented to go on with the 
work. It seemed almost strange that they did 
not find more things than they did. There were 
a number of other timbers unearthed, but all 
but one of them were too rotten to be of use* 
There was the half of a metate stone ^ which 
they made a great deal of use of afterwards, and 
a broken pitcher and more pieces of pottery, but 
none of it big enough to be of any use. There 
were some very small fragments of glass and 
quite a number of bricks ; also a few rusty scraps 
of iron, one of which had been an oarlock and 
one a knife. The bricks were mixed in with a 
number of stones, all bearing the marks of 
fire, — a cooking-place of some sort evidently. 

The children were most excited over the 
pitcher. It had a gay flower on one side of it, 
and they watched eagerly for other fragments. 
They found a few and fitted them together, but 
when all was done there was still a hole in it as 

* A stone used for grinding Indian corn. 

208 


The Muggywah 


big as Delbert’s fist and a piece gone from the 
nose, but they took as much pride in that old 
fragment as if it had been really something 
valuable. 

But to Marian the bricks appealed the most. 
She meant to have a real fireplace in the new 
house, and they would aid very much. The 
crotched timber, short though it was, would 
also come in very handy, and the ground they 
had dug over so industriously was in fine con- 
dition for a garden. 

Every day they took their swimming-lesson. 
Now they began to practice on long swims. 
They would take the Muggywah out, and while 
Marian or Delbert paddled it along, or tended 
the sail if there was a breeze, the rest would 
swim by the side. As soon as one got tired, all 
he had to do was to climb in and take his turn 
with the paddle. Even Davie was learning a 
little about paddling, and Jennie and Esther, 
now eleven and nine years old, could manage 
very nicely. 

Out on the blue water they made a pretty 
picture, — the Muggywah dancing along with 
her gay striped sail, Marian in a garment 
209 


Smugglers’ Island 

constructed of her old brown petticoat which 
reached to her knees but left neck and arms 
bare, Davie’s old straw hat tied under her chin, 
her long braids falling to her waist as she steered 
with the oar; the four children, their slender 
bodies gleaming white in the water, splashing 
each other, laughing, calling, now and again 
climbing on the seaweed deck to rest a few min- 
utes before plunging down again into the salty 
waves. 

And when they had been out long enough, 
they would turn the Muggywah and run for 
Smugglers’, pretending they were fleeing from 
their enemies, — smugglers escaping from the 
government revenue men maybe, or Indians 
returning from striking some decisive blow at 
their tribal foes. 

Always there were the little burros to be 
tended, a little gardening to be done each day, 
fresh water to be carried up to the Cave, and 
wood to be gathered. Marian had learned that 
as long as she worked with them her tribe did 
very well, but it was not well to leave them at 
separate tasks. She still felt, too, the desire to 
have them within her reach, to know for a cer- 


210 


The Muggywah 

tainty where each one was and that he or she 
was safe. So they fished together, gathered wood 
together, worked together in the garden. 

Delbert sometimes went to the pasture alone 
when Marian was busy with something else, 
yet as a rule he took Esther with him even there. 
Jennie was more apt to stay with Marian, to 
help with the cooking, or maybe just to sit on 
the rocks gazing out over the sea. As for Davie, 
he stayed with Marian too. Delbert never 
wanted him along when he was after game, for 
the little fellow was sure to make some sort of a 
noise at the wrong time, which Delbert always 
found hard to forgive, while Esther, on the other 
hand, would follow at his heels like a well- 
trained dog, moving silently, stealthily, and her 
aim was nearly equal to his own. 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE BUILDING OF THE WICKIUP 

Delbert came laughing to his breakfast one 
morning. Ve found the ideal spot for a house/’ 
he said. 

“Good for you!” said Marian, as she care- 
fully raked out from the embers the red snapper 
which had been stuffed with green peppers, 
wrapped in green banana leaves, and buried in 
the hot coals and ashes overnight. “All right, 
tell us about it as we eat.” 

“It can’t be told. It will have to be seen to be 
appreciated,” he said. 

“In that case we will go and see right after 
breakfast.” 

Which they did, and he led them to the high- 
est, rockiest point of that end of the Island, fac- 
ing the long, sandy point where the watermelons 
were and where one could see both the bay and 
the harbor. 

“Now,” said he, seating himself on a big 
boulder, ^^you observe the lovely view we have. 


212 


The Building of the Wickiup 

Nowhere on the whole Island can you get a bet- 
ter one. With a little clearing there is a fair 
chance of a path down to the pier. We are not 
so very far from the Cave either. And then, too, 
you see, this nice high cliff would save our making 
more than three sides to the house, and those 
big rocks there would be handy to brace against.’’ 

‘‘Where would be our floor asked Jennie. 
“It’s all rocks here.” 

But Marian was looking. The cliff, as Delbert 
called it, would save making one side of the 
house, and several of the big rocks Jennie was so 
scornful of were in a direct line for working into 
the walls, while the others could be moved by 
means of crude levers that they could work. The 
floor could then be leveled by building up with 
rocks from the lower side. It would be impossi- 
ble to dig holes to set posts in, but, if one were 
not too particular about having the house sym- 
metrical, there were several fissures in the rocks 
where posts could be put, and braced solid with 
other stones packed in about them. The face of 
the big rock, or cliff, back of them was very ir- 
regular, and there were several good places to set 
roof-timbers in. 


213 


Smugglers’ Island 

The ground sloped rather steeply down to the 
sandy point and was covered with brush, but a 
path, as Delbert said, could be cleared down to 
the pier, and it would be a better one really than 
the one they were using, too. Also a little tossing 
of the rocks to one side would clear the way back 
to the Cave, where they could use the old path 
to the beach. The heavy task would be bringing 
all the material up the hill, but that would have 
to be done in any case ; only, of course, if they 
built at the Cave, for instance, they would not 
have to carry things so far. 

‘‘Delbert,” she said, “what we are going to 
need, and need badly, is lime.” 

“Lime.? What for?” 

“To mix with sand and fresh water to make 
mortar to pack around the roof-timbers, where 
we set them into the cliff there, and around the 
posts, where we put them into this crevice below. 
Good mortar would set and keep them solid.” 

“They dig lime out of the ground, don’t they ? ” 

“No; they dig a certain kind of rock out and 
burn it, and it turns into lime; and they burn 
shells, and that makes lime too.” 

“Shells? Well, we can get plenty of shells.” 

214 


The Building of the Wickiup 

‘‘Yes, but I don’t know how to burn lime, — 
how long it takes or how it ought to look when 
it is right, — and I don’t know exactly how to 
work it afterwards either.” 

“Can’t we experiment and find out Burn just 
a few at first and see how they work?” 

“I guess we’d better, for I don’t want this 
house falling down on us in a storm, and if I can 
get the frame of it absolutely solid. I’ll risk but 
what we can manage the rest of it all right.” 

“What will you make the roof of?” asked 
Jennie. 

“Thatch,” promptly responded Marian. 
“Don’t you remember all that tall thatch grass 
out beyond the lagoon? The Mexicans at the 
Port sometimes make their whole houses of it. 
And, Delbert, there is another big job ahead of 
us. We are going to need every pole that is in 
the corral fence; we must build a good brush 
fence to hold in the burros, so that we can have 
every stick and pole there, every piece of drift- 
wood. I guess we’d better clear that patch of 
brush beyond the garden. It will be nicer cleared 
away, and we can pile it all on to the fence.” 

They gathered a lot of shells that day, and, 
2IS 


Smugglers’ Island 

after a few experiments in their cooking-fire, 
made a little pile of alternate shells and wood and 
started it burning. Marian thought the shells 
ought probably to burn slowly; her idea was to 
rake out a few every now and then and see how 
things were going. Her only safe way was to 
mix a little mortar and see if it set hard. 

Between times they worked on the brush fence. 
They had not progressed very far before they 
wished they had got at it at least two years 
sooner, for in the midst of the tangled growth of 
bushes, choked and stunted but still struggling 
to keep alive, they found a goodly number of 
cotton plants. 

These must have been, along with the palms 
and the bananas, a part of the smugglers’ gar- 
den. There were three straggling rows, and most 
of the bushes had a few sickly-looking cotton 
bolls on them. They are never very large on 
that particular variety of plant, but none of these 
were larger than a small hen’s egg ; indeed, most 
of them more closely resembled marbles. But 
they contained actual cotton, and with care and 
some cultivation the plants would produce more 
and larger bolls. They gathered them — what 
216 


The Building of the Wickiup 

few there were — and put them with the cot- 
ton-tree pods. 

‘"As soon as the house is done, I shall have 
to see about a spinning-wheel and loom,” said 
Marian, “and oh! if we had only found them 
before!” 

They cut out the brush systematically, clear- 
ing out, as thoroughly as they could, each bush 
as they came to it. Delbert and the little girls 
would take sticks and bend back the bushes, so 
that Marian could get at them to chop them off 
near the ground with the hatchet; then with 
ropes they would drag them to the corral and 
pile them on the fence. They were trying to 
make it very solid and compact, also a little 
larger than before. 

In this way they managed to release every pole 
that had been in the fence, and they piled them 
at one side to await the time when they should 
be ready for them at the new house. 

They were not so very successful with the lime. 
They burned a good many shells before they pro- 
duced what was at all satisfactory. 

They found that there were not enough shells 
near by, but off across the bay, at the mouth of 
217 


Smugglers’ Island 

one of the esteros, was a bank that had seemed 
to be composed almost entirely of shells; so they 
took the Muggywah and made several trips 
there, coming back loaded down with all the 
shells they could carry. These shells were very 
old and broken, but Marian thought they would 
probably make as good lime as fresh ones would. 
There were other places, too, where shells were 
more plentiful than near home, and they made 
trips after them. 

While they were gathering the shells they cut 
a good many pitalla poles, peeled the green bark 
off them, and left them to dry before taking 
them home. Delbert used his stone hatchet for 
that work ; he had made a handle for it, as Marian 
said probably the first owner had, by splitting a 
stick down and tying it above and below where 
the hatchet was inserted, and while he could not, 
of course, chop wood with it, the soft green 
pitalla bark yielded to it very well. To be sure, 
it was no better, even for this purpose, than the 
other hatchet, but think how much more roman- 
tic it is to work with an ancient stone hatchet 
than with an ordinary little modern steel one ! 

Delbert thought so much of that hatchet that 
218 


The Building of the Wickiup 

Marian said he had better give it a name, and 
told him about King Arthur’s sword Excalibur; 
but when Delbert asked her if she thought that 
would be a good name for the hatchet, she said 
she thought they had better modify it a little and 
call it the ‘"Exscalper” instead, because, though 
it might once have been used to scalp with, it 
was not in that business now. 

These pitalla poles are hollow, but durable and 
comparatively straight, and are much used in 
building the humbler homes of western Mexico. 



EXSCALPER 


The poor little overworked hatchet had to be 
sharpened many, many times. There was no 
need now to put the whetstone beyond Davie’s 
reach. He was too sensible to want to hide it, 
realizing as well as any of them that what the 
whole community needs should not be selfishly 
regarded as private property. 

Delbert’s jack-knife had been worked and 
219 


Smugglers’ Island 


overworked till it was about used up. One blade 
was broken, and the other leaned backward in a 
most heartrending fashion. He did not use it 
much, but always had the butcher-knife tucked 
into his belt beside the Exscalper. 

The two case-knives had been sharpened, and 
the two little girls carried them. Davie never 
felt at home without the dig-spoon. With much 
use its edge had become as sharp as a knife, and 
he used it for that right along. And he, like all 
the others, except Marian, always had his bow 
and arrows slung at his back. 

They did not take much time off the work till 
the season for “duck” eggs came again; then 
they dropped everything and sailed for the little 
white islands. It took only a part of a day to 
make the trip, and they could get eggs enough 
for several days. They almost lived on them 
through the season, and when it was over 
dropped back to their vegetarian diet, varied 
only by an occasional meal of fish from a night’s 
spearing. 

When, after much time and labor expended, 
and many, many experiments, Marian decided 
that there was enough lime to make the mortar 


220 


The Building of the Wickiup 

to set the posts and roof-timbers, they began the 
task of getting their timbers up the hill. 

They had thought that they could utilize 
Jackie for that, but he soon undeceived them. 
He was not averse to carrying small loads of 
wood, but when it came to pulling anything really 
heavy, Jackie called a halt, and, moreover, re- 
mained halted till the load was removed. 

They found no means of coaxing or persuasion 
that availed in the least. It made not an iota of 
difference to Jackie whether those poles remained 
at the top or the bottom of the hill, and if the 
children wanted them at the top, why, let them 
take them there, that was all. In the end they 
had to drag them up themselves. They tied 
ropes to them and used main force. It was not 
a very long job when they once got over trying 
to make Jackie do it for them. As for him, he 
skipped along beside them, gay and carefree. 

Then they debated long and earnestly as to 
just which crotched timber should be placed in 
this place and which pole in that. They tried 
each one in all the places to see where it would 
fit best, and everybody expressed his opinion. 
They planned where to put the doors and the 
221 


Smugglers’ Island 

window, and where was the best place for the 
fireplace. 

When they had these momentous questions 
settled, Marian mixed her mortar. Each upright 
was made solid by being packed tightly with big 
rocks and all set in mortar; each roof-pole was 
set in the same way where it rested on the cliff. 
At the same time Marian tried not to be too 
prodigal with her mortar, for she wanted to have 
enough left to lay up the chimney, at least where 
it would come above the roof and be exposed to 
the wind and weather. And her supply of lime 
was not at all large, for it took so long to gather 
up the shells, and often they had not got them 
well burned after they were gathered. 

After her timbers and poles were well set, she 
began on the fireplace. For this they brought up 
the bricks and the blackened stones from the 
smugglers’ old house; for some kinds of stones 
will crack and split with heat, or even go so far 
as to pop into little pieces which fly in all direc- 
tions, and Marian wanted that fireplace built of 
tested stones that would be up to no mischief. 
The stones she had cooked over at the Cave 
were brought, and two nice, smooth, large ones 


222 


The Building of the Wickiup 

from the cooking-place at the beach. She used 
clay from the pasture as mortar for the fireplace 
and the lower part of the chimney. 

Once, on a trip up an estero that wound past a 
little hill, they had noticed a big flat rock that 
Delbert thought would make a fine hearthstone. 
They could find other flat rocks, of course, but 
this one had especially appealed to the boy, be- 
cause it was much larger and smoother than any 
other they had seen, and he thought it would be 
nice to have the hearth of one big stone. Marian 
thought so, too, but was afraid it was too big for 
them to manage. However, she finally consented 
to try it. If they could get it on board the Mug- 
gywah at all, they could find some way of getting 
it off again and up the hill and into place. 

After all, thought Marian, if her flock learned 
to achieve things, to overcome difficulties, to per- 
sist in spite of obstacles, was that not of itself 
a fair education ? And to bring that great rock 
home would certainly be a lesson in achievement. 

So they went after it. They took plenty of 
ropes along and several round pieces of driftwood 
to serve as rollers under the stone. They found 
it readily. One side was so flat and smooth that 
223 


Smugglers’ Island 

it seemed as if it must some time have been 
worked upon by human hands; the other was 
rough and irregular, being much thicker at one 
end than at the other. It was all Marian and 
Delbert could do to lift it alone, and even with 
Jennie’s and Esther’s help it was none too easy. 
Fortunately it was not far from the water’s edge. 
They got it on their two largest rollers, and, by 
smoothing the way and prying the rollers along, 
they got it down to the Muggywah. 

Then it developed that it would be more easily 
got aboard at low than at high tide. At low tide 
the Muggywah could be placed under a bank and 
the big stone swung off on to her; at high tide 
it would have to be lifted up to get it aboard. 

So they made their preparations. They tied 
the Muggywah fore and aft, and rigged up a tri- 
pod to assist in swinging the hearthstone over 
on to her just where they wanted it. They pushed 
and pried the rollers, and tugged and twisted till 
they had the big stone in position on the edge 
of the bank, and then retired to the shade of a 
scrubby mesquite to eat their lunch of turnips 
and carrots and drink Island water from the 
bottles, while they waited for the tide to go out. 

224 


The Building of the Wickiup 

And when the lunch was finished, they sallied 
forth and hunted for panales ^ clams, oysters, and, 
incidentally, arrowheads and more hatchets. 

When the Muggywah dropped below the 
bank, they rallied again to the task in hand. The 
tripod was a big help ; they had the hair rope for 
that. Carefully they worked. It was not merely 
the getting of the big stone that Marian had in 
mind; she wanted to be quite sure no one was 
going to get hurt in the process. 

“Delbert, don’t lift on that till you really 
strain yourself,” she said. “Davie, you stand by 
that pole and see that it doesn’t lift up; I 
don’t want your little fingers mashed under this. 
Esther, poke that stick under there where 
Jennie’s fingers are. There, that’s right; that 
holds it instead. Now, Jennie, you stand there 
where Delbert is. Delbert, you and I will have 
to swing round below here now. Davie, hold that 
pole down tight.” 

Davie held valiantly with all his might. There 
was no danger of that particular pole budging, 
but Marian wanted him out of the way, and 
knew that the only way to be sure he would not 
slip in at the wrong minute, and maybe get a 
22S 


Smugglers’ Island 

finger jammed before she could help him, was 
to keep him busy elsewhere. 

‘‘There, now, you see, part of the weight 
comes on the tripod. Carefully now, Esther. 
Jennie can do that alone now; you jump down 
and be ready to help here.” 

In the midst of it all she began to laugh. “ Del- 
bert, if it takes all this fuss to get it aboard, how 
in the world are we ever going to get it off again ? 
We may have to dump it into the harbor yet.” 

“Not much we don’t,” muttered Delbert be- 
tween his teeth. 

“Well, all steady now! Gently there, Jennie! 
That’s right! Now jump down and help Esther. 
There, there she is, neat as a whistle. Look how 
it pushes the Muggywah down, but it ’s all right. 
Knock up that tripod pole there, Delbert. We’ll 
have the rope off. Where ,did you put your 
oysters, Jennie? Oh, I see. Well, drop ’em in 
here; we must be starting back. It will take us 
all day to-morrow to get this hearthstone off the 
deck, and two more to get it up the hill, as like 
as not.” 

As a matter of fact, it took a great deal longer 
than that, but they did not work at it all the 
226 


The Building of the Wickiup 

time. They rigged up another tripod to help 
them swing it off the Mugg3rwah, and by aid of 
rollers got it to the foot of the hill safely. There 
they tied it to something to make sure it would 
not slip and roll down on them, and little by 
little, as they felt inclined, they pushed it up the 
hill. Sometimes a day or two would go by with- 
out its being touched, and then, some morning 
when they felt vigorous, they would get at it 
with levers and rollers and work it up the hill 
a little farther. Davie got quite expert in slip- 
ping the stones in back of it to block it up while 
they rested. 

In the course of time it was taken into the 
frame of the new house and settled into place, 
being blocked with stones till it did not wiggle 
in the least; and as they stood back surveying 
it, they all felt that it was worth all the trouble 
it had been to get it. The fireplace itself was 
built up waist-high when the hearthstone was 
put in place. 

Marian was planning a good handy place to 
cook over, and several of the scraps of iron were 
used with that idea. The old twisted, rusty oar- 
lock, for instance, was converted into a hook to 
227 


Smugglers’ Island 

hang the kettle on at one side, and there were 
various little places made, to put things on to 
keep hot or to go on slowly cooking. At the 
proper height a mantel-shelf was put in, too, 
a smooth piece of driftwood. It had once been a 
board about a foot wide by three or three and 
a half long, but it had been tossed and beaten 
till the edges were thin and ragged. Marian 
fitted it across and surveyed it with pride. 

It seemed as if the longest and most tiresome 
part of the work was the building of the chimney. 
Massive was the word for it. It was continued 
up pretty high. Marian climbed up on the roof- 
timbers and had the children hand her the stones 
and mortar. 

They got well tired of the job before it was 
finished. At the last, Marian herself would help 
gather a pile of stones, and then, after mixing 
the mortar, would climb up on the roof and work 
away, and Delbert would hand up the rocks one 
by one and the mortar in the little wooden pail. 
She used the dig-spoon and the little spade for 
trowels, assisted by a piece of old board she had 
whittled into shape. 

Yet, after all, considering how tiresome it must 
228 


V 


The Building of the Wickiup 

have been, the children were pretty good about 
it. Delbert never complained of the monotony, 
and though the little girls were quite sure Marian 
was building that chimney higher and thicker 
than was at all necessary, they did their work 
cheerfully. 

They stopped when their good lime gave out, 
but Marian was sure that she had it high enough 
to draw well at all times, and so big and solid that 
it would not blow over in a storm, even if it had 
not been protected to some extent by the high 
rock, or cliff, back of it. 

She would have been glad of more lime, but 
it was such a task to gather and burn the shells 
that she decided to finish the house without it. 
They gathered up their pitalla poles now, clean, 
creamy-white poles, which they fastened in 
place by tightly lashing with small ropes. Where 
they needed them in the walls they packed the 
end that rested on the ground with rocks and 
mud and tied the upper ends. The house began 
to take shape rapidly. The pitalla poles were 
easily split when smaller, finer pieces were 
needed. 

Finally they were ready for the thatch. It 
229 


Smugglers’ Island ' 

would take a great many trips to get that. They 
knew of but one place where it grew, and that 
was away up by the lagoon. They would go and 
cut grass, or rather dig it out by the roots, till 
they had enough for a bundle for each one. These 
bundles were graduated in size, of course, but 
Marian allowed no shirking. Nobody really 
tried to shirk but Davie. He did n’t like to carry 
thatch-grass down to the estero, and he tried all 
kinds of excuses to get out of it, but Marian was 
firm. 

“ Every little helps,” she said. It is work that 
you can do, and you must.” 

So, in spite of his grumblings and groanings, 
Davie carried his little bundle as well as the rest. 
They would make several trips, stacking the 
grass in a pile at the pier; then they would stop 
and carry it all to the top of the hill to the new 
house, and Marian and Delbert would put it on 
the roof. Jackie helped them there. He did not 
mind carrying quite a bundle of grass up the 
hill, for it was light and did not tax his strength. 
It was pulling that Jackie objected to. 

They put the grass on very thick, tying each 
little bunch very firm and tight to the split 
230 


The Building of the Wickiup 

'pitalla prepared for it. Here again the little 
girls felt very sure that Marian was doing a much 
better job than was at all necessary. They were 
quite sure that much less grass would do just as 
well. But Marian, remembering the fury of that 
first storm on the Island, was not going to run 
any risks, and Delbert backed her up in her de- 
termination. So for weeks they worked at it, 
digging and tugging at the grass up by the lagoon, 
often cutting their fingers on the sharp edges, 
toiling down through the hot sun to the estero 
with their bundles, tying them on the Muggywah, 
and then paddling back home. Then, when 
Marian and Delbert climbed up on the roof, the 
little girls handed up bunch after bunch of the 
rank, heavy grass to the two above, who tied 
them with the stout little cords that they some- 
times took a day off to make. And finally the 
whole roof was covered with a thick mat of the 
rustling grass, the long loose ends of each row 
hanging well down over the root ends of the row 
below. Several poles were fastened across to 
hold it down better and make it all the surer that 
the wind would not get in underneath and undo 
any of their labor. 


231 


Smugglers’ Island 

Then there were the sides to come next. 
Marian had thought that they would maybe 
thatch them too, but the children were tired of 
going after grass. Indeed, they had gathered all 
the best of it ; what was left was so much shorter 
and thinner that it would take much more time 
to get it. So she cast about for other material 
nearer home. 

There were several big rocks in a line with the 
walls, two of which were immovable, but there 
were several others that they succeeded in pry- 
ing up and swinging round into place. In be- 
tween them Marian built up a wall even with 
their tops, using for her mortar the shells that had 
not been well burned, mixing them with clay 
brought from the pasture. It was very tiresome 
bringing it, but it did nicely after they got it 
there, for it dried hard and smooth and would 
stay so as long as it was kept dry at least. 

One thing Marian was particular about was to 
use only the fresh water for her mortar. It was 
more trouble than it would have been to use salt, 
but she had heard some of the men at the Port 
once talking about some one who had made a 
failure of a kiln of bricks because he had used 


232 


The Building of the Wickiup 

salt water in the making. She did not remem- 
ber what they had said was the reason why the 
salt was bad in that particular place, nor just 
what effect it had had, but she intended to 
run no risks ; so her mortar was all mixed with 
water from the well on the pier side of the 
Island. 

But she could not build up the entire wall that 
way, and by the time she had it up as high as the 
big rocks there were no more loose stones near 
them and she had used up every bit of her burnt 
shells. All hands were very tired, too, of lugging 
earth from the pasture, and they could find no 
clay nearer home. 

She turned to the banana-patch then, and 
they tore the big stalks into strips of uniform 
size and used these to weave in basket-fashion 
between the uprights and the split pitallas. It 
did very well except that, as with everything else, 
Marian insisted upon its being done so well that 
it seemed to take forever to do it. They also used 
the dried leaves, weaving them in and out and 
pounding them down so as to have a good thick 
wall. Some kinds of brush they used, too, fine 
branches that had no thorns, or at least no large 

233 


Smugglers’ Island 

ones, but the fibrous strips of the banana stalks 
were the main material used. 

This part of the task was something they 
could all work at. Even Davie learned quickly 
how to weave in brush and banana stalk and 
work and pound them down. Up under the eaves 
they were not quite so particular to have it thick 
and firm. 

Finally it was all done. There remained now 
but the floor, the doors, and the windows. 

The floor must be leveled and made as smooth 
as possible. It was so rocky and rough that it 
seemed the only way would be to build up from 
the lower side with stones. There were plenty of 
stones, but they had to be brought from some 
little distance now, as everything loose in the 
neighborhood had been pretty well cleaned up. 
Marian packed stones in as well as she could, 
and when it was comparatively level, filled in 
the chinks with pebbles and wads of banana 
leaves, and then they lugged up pailful after pail- 
ful of sand from the beach. 

Jackie helped here too. They made a pair of 
sacks by folding a blanket over once and sewing 
up the ends. This could be thrown over Jackie’s 

234 


The Building of the Wickiup 

back. They put in as much sand as they thought 
he would stand, and then, when the rest of them 
had their loads ready, they would all go up the 
hill together. Some one had to watch pretty 
closely to see that the load did not slip off over 
Jackie’s tail on the steep parts of the path, but 
he carried so much more than any of them cared 
to that it paid to use him. Of course, if they had 
really put much of a load on him, he would prob- 
ably have balked as was his habit, but they were 
careful not, to do that. Marian thought that he 
would gradually get used to carrying loads and 
be a great help to them some time in the future. 

They poured the sand on the floor, where it 
ran down into the cracks and little holes, till 
after two or three days of pretty steady work the 
cracks seemed to be all filled up and their floor 
was level and smooth. 

Then they went to Bonanza Cove, where in 
the storms the seaweed had been pounded and 
churned and tossed far up on the beach; there 
it had dried and bleached in the suns of later days 
till now it could be peeled up in great white 
layers. They took this dried seaweed in as big 
flakes as they could carry without breaking it, 

23 s 


Smugglers’ Island 


and carpeted every bit of the floor, clear up to 
the hearthstone. But Marian was a little afraid 
this was too near the fire for safety; so they 
hunted till they found enough big flat stones to 
lay a row all around the hearth. Then, by wetting 
the seaweed, they could pack this row down to a 
level with the hearthstone, and finally, after fill- 
ing with sand all the little corners where the 
stones did not just match, they felt pretty certain 
that no sparks would fly out far enough to set 
their carpet on fire. 

Then they moved in. It was not so tremen- 
dous a task. There was no packing or unpacking 
to do, no bickering with drivers of moving-vans. 
They simply gathered up their bedding and bags 
of feathers and dumped them down in one corner 
on the floor, and then brought over the few uten- 
sils from the Cave. A very few more trips 
brought over all the odds and ends that had 
accumulated, — pretty shells and other small 
treasures such as children always collect. 

The new home was very irregular in shape, for 
their material had been far from regular or uni- 
form and they had had to place their posts and 
poles where the unyielding rocks would receive 
236 


The Building of the Wickiup 

them best, but the room averaged about eight 
feet by fifteen, the eaves being about six feet 
lower than the side built against the cliff. 

There were two narrow doors and one window, 
and for the doors Marian made a light frame of 
split pitalla tied together at the corners and then 
wove a sort of mat of palm-leaf across them. 
This was too light and thin to be trusted in a 
storm; so of stouter material, split pitalla^ but 
heavier pieces, she made a pair of large, heavy 
frames and covered these with thatch-grass, for 
which they made another trip to the lagoon. 
Even then it was not quite enough, and she fin- 
ished with palm-leaves, the old dried ones that 
were not strong enough for ropes, but could be 
used whole. Some of these, too, she tied on the 
outside of the house where the wattling seemed 
to be a little thin; they would help a little when 
the rains came. 

The light doors she fastened on permanently 
with fiber ropes, but the heavy storm doors were 
left outside, where they were out of the way 
ordinarily, but could be quickly put into place 
and tied over the others when a storm came up. 
She did not bother to make a mat frame for 

237 


Smugglers’ Island 


the window, but contented herself with the one 
heavy thatch one, which was fastened across the 
top so that it could be swung out and up and be 
propped with a stick, thus making a shade over 
the opening like an awning; it could also be 
swung down and tied tight whenever desired. 

Inside there were several shelves put up by 
swinging them from the roof, and their largest 
piece of driftwood, laid across two rocks, made 
a very good table. These and the mantel-shelf 
were enough to hold all their dishes and other 
valuables. The bedding, folded up neatly in a 
corner, did not take up much room. The fire- 
place did not smoke, and it was very convenient 
indeed for the cooking. 

At night the children lay down where they 
chose on the clean, springy seaweed floor, and 
pulled a part of a blanket or a rabbit-skin robe 
or the big cape over them and slept the sleep of 
the healthy till morning. 

They had no lamp or lantern, but the bark of 
the pitalla burned with a white light that made 
the inside of the little house very cheery and 
cozy of an evening, and was a good enough light 
for anything they might want to do. 

238 


The Building of the Wickiup 

They had begun the house at the end of one 
rainy season; they had it finished just as the next 
one was upon them. They went with the Mug- 
gywah and gathered up all the pitalla bark, now 
nicely dry, which had been stripped from their 
poles and which they had not already brought in, 
and stored it in the Cave to keep it dry, and 
when they had that full they piled another heap 
in another cave, where it would be partially pro- 
tected from the wet. 

They gathered, too, a big pile of driftwood 
near the house, — light stuff such as the waves 
were always tossing up, and as much heavy stuff 
as they could get for back-logs to bury at night, 
so as to have good embers in the mornings when 
it was cold, for a bed of hot embers was a com- 
fort indeed to start in with. 

The children had begun calling the new home 
a wigwam, but Marian said she was quite sure 
that a wigwam was always made of skins 
stretched over poles, but she believed — she was 
not quite sure, but she believed — that a wickiup 
was made of wattles with a thatch or dirt roof ; 
so, of course, theirs was a wickiup. 

Rainy days had no terrors for them now, and 

239 


Smugglers’ Island 

no dreariness. They would do what was needful 
to make the little burros comfortable, gather 
into the wickiup what food and fuel was needed 
for the next day and night, close the storm 
door, on the side the wind and rain were com- 
ing from and open the other to let in plenty of 
light. 

A very small fire would keep the room com- 
fortable, and they could sit warm and dry, and 
do whatever amused them best, — weave bas- 
kets, or make little ropes, or sharpen knives or 
the hatchet. Rainy days were good times to 
crochet fiber into bags or clothing and to bore 
holes in wampum. Delbert made himself a 
beautiful wampum belt. It was woven of fiber 
about two inches wide, and he covered it with 
little shells sewed on through two little holes 
bored in each one. It was a great deal of work, 
but he was very much interested in it, and 
showed such ability in boring holes without 
breaking the shells, and in sewing them on so 
that they made a pretty pattern, that Marian 
was as proud of him for doing it as he was proud 
of the belt when it was done. 

It was that summer that Marian took up the 
240 


The Building of the Wickiup 

long-neglected task of the children’s education. 
She was handicapped certainly; her sole school- 
room equipments were half a lead-pencil, a piece 
of blue chalk half as big as her thumb, which 
chanced to be in her workbag, and a part of a 
newspaper that had lain in the bottom of their 
lunch-basket and had a dozen times only nar- 
rowly escaped being used up for something else. 
This paper consisted mainly of advertisements 
of real estate for sale, male and female help 
wanted, and a page of sporting news and market 
reports, with half a column of mineral discov- 
eries. It was not an ideal primer, but it would do 
to teach Davie his letters from. 

There was a place on the rock wall that was 
comparatively smooth, and Marian made it 
more so by rubbing it with flat stones small 
enough to be handled easily and as much like 
a grindstone in composition as she could find. 
She would rub and rub, throw on a little water, 
and rub again, and she kept that up till she had 
a space that would serve very well as a black- 
board. Of course the blue chalk did not last 
long, but then they used bits of charcoal, and if 
bones were burnt just right they made a very 
241 


Smugglers’ Island 


good substitute for chalk. A bunch of mescal or 
banana fiber made a very good eraser. 

There were several pieces of driftwood smooth 
enough to do for slates, and one or two bits of 
flat stones also. Clamshells were useful. They 
had quite a number of these, as big as saucers, 
that they had used as dishes. Marian took them 
now and made school readers of them. With the 
lead-pencil she wrote lessons on them. Mother 
Goose verses, bits of poetry that did not have too 
many big words in them, remembered proverbs, 
and little stories. When the three older children 
could read and spell all the words in them, she 
washed them out and wrote another lesson. 

Arithmetic was taught by means of the black- 
board and little shells, stones, and seeds. Del- 
bert always did his figuring on the hearthstone. 
He would stretch out on his stomach and elbows, 
his chin in his hands, and his feet kicking at all 
angles. 

The other children had to give him a wide 
berth or they got all kinds of cracks. Jennie 
complained that she could not think lying down, 
so she always used the blackboard. Esther used 
it too, not because her brain would not work 
242 


The Building of the Wickiup 

horizontally, but because when Delbert had the 
hearth there was no room for any one else there, 
and he made his figures as big as all out-of-doors 
anyway. After all, mental arithmetic was more 
satisfactory, and Marian drilled them pretty well 
in that. 

The paper-tree proved a treasure to them. It 
is, I think, in some respects a distant cousin of 
the birch. At any rate, its bark can be peeled 
off in the same way, only it is much thinner — 
of paperlike thickness, or thinness rather — and 
partially transparent. When she could get good 
pieces of this, Marian never failed to acquire 
them, and she made books of it, clumsy, of 
course, but serving a little better than the clam- 
shells. 

She was constantly experimenting for ink, 
testing every juice she came across that seemed 
at all likely. Pens she could make, as her an- 
cestors had before her, of big quills. Her little 
penknife had never been much used except to 
whittle out toys for Christmas, and it was just 
the thing to make quill pens with. 

Fortunately, Delbert and the girls were eager 
to learn. They did not want to be behind their 

243 


Smugglers’ Island 

mates when they got back to them, and as they 
were all three pretty bright, Marian’s task was 
much easier than it would otherwise have been. 

But Davie was not over anxious to spend 
time on what seemed to him so useless. He was 
more backward than either of the others, too, 
and with him Marian had need of the most lov- 
ing patience, also of ingenuity in thinking up 
ways to get him interested. Fortunately, she was 
patient, and, moreover, loved the little fellow so 
fervently that she would have developed pa- 
tience even had she been naturally devoid of it. 


CHAPTER IX 

davie’s panal hunt: and what came of it 

Davie was really getting to be quite a chunk 
of a boy. He was different from Delbert, — 
more square and solid of build, of quieter and 
calmer temperament too, slower in his motions 
and also in his thought and speech. In features 
he resembled Esther more than any of the others. 

He was a very straightforward little fellow. 
No matter how much he differed from the others, 
he never saw any reason for concealing his opin- 
ions or denying his actions. He did not talk 
much, but seemed to do his share of thinking, 
and when he reached a conclusion was apt to 
cling to it rather tenaciously. He usually yielded 
to Marian’s authority with a pretty good grace, 
but as he grew older he was more and more apt 
to disregard the wishes of the others when they 
crossed his own. Jennie could, as a rule, manage 
him pretty well, for she was very diplomatic 
about it, and seemed to have a gift for knowing 
when to coax and pet him into doing what she 


Smugglers’ Island 


wanted him to and when to twist him adroitly 
round her fingers in some other way. 

Esther, too, though she was not so successful 
as Jennie, rarely clashed with her little brother, 
but Delbert, having perhaps less of the guile of 
the serpent in his make-up, often did clash in a 
small way. He thought that as he was older his 
wishes should have the preference as a matter of 
course. But Davie held other ideas. He did not 
propose to have Delbert bossing him just be- 
cause he was bigger, and often he was stubborn 
just for the pleasure of plaguing his older brother. 
The trouble was never very deep-seated. Two 
minutes after an explosion of hot words on Del- 
bert’s part had called Marian’s attention so that 
she could settle the matter, whatever it was, 
the little boy would be cuddled up beside the 
older one, sweet-tempered and smiling as you 
please. 

Delbert never seemed to lay Davie’s naughti- 
ness up against him after the immediate occasion 
had passed. But one day there were after effects 
which neither of them had counted upon. 

Davie had gone with Delbert and Esther up 
into the pasture to see how a certain panal was 
246 


Davie’s Panal Hunt 

growing, Marian and Jennie being detained at 
the wickiup. The panal was still too small to be 
molested, so they went back, skirting the high, 
rocky part of the Island that lay overlooking the 
shallow part of the harbor. They went down to 
the water once and then climbed up again, and 
Delbert suggested that they go back to the level 
pasture and follow the path home as the quick- 
est way of getting there. Davie, for no reason 
save that Delbert wanted to go back to the path, 
decided that he wanted to continue climbing over 
the rocks ; he said he was looking for panales, 

Delbert did not want to go on and leave him 
behind, for they were a long way from the 
wickiup, and Davie was little. But he coaxed 
to no avail and issued positive orders with as 
little result. Esther, too, tried her hand, but it 
was useless. Davie continued wending his way 
along the roughest, rockiest part, ‘'looking for 
panales 

Delbert fretted and fumed, and presently they 
came to where Davie must come back to the 
level land or else crawl along where it was really 
dangerous for him to go. 

Had it been Jennie, she would have looked the 
247 


Smugglers’ Island 

other way, started a conversation with Esther 
about something a long way off, and pretended 
to forget all about the little boy, and he, finding 
himself no longer in the lime-light, as it were, 
would have quietly come back and trailed 
along in the path behind her. But Delbert was 
pretty well worked up anyway, and he was truly 
alarmed for Davie’s safety in that spot. 

‘‘Now, Davie, you will have to come back,’^ 
he said. 

“No, go along here,” returned Davie with 
true Indian brevity. 

“Why, you can’t! Honest, Davie, it is n’t 
safe. Marian would n’t let you if she were here. 
Come on, now.” 

Davie hesitated a minute, debating whether 
he should attempt farther advance where he was 
or go back with the others. To jump across to 
the next rock was almost beyond his daring, but 
it would be having his own way. He made, or 
appeared to make, preparation for it. 

A quick, hot wave of anger flashed over Del- 
bert. He started forward, intending to catch his 
naughty little brother and carry him back along 
the path by force, at least till they were well past 
248 


Davie’s Panal Hunt 

the rocky danger. He knew he could do it, once 
he got hold of him. 

Davie knew it, too, and made all haste to jump 
before Delbert could get to him. Perhaps he 
could have made it, if he had done it with de- 
liberation, but, as it was, he slipped, missed his 
mark, lost his balance, and, slipping, failed to 
regain it and fell. 

Delbert and Esther never will forget the sick- 
ening horror of that moment. They rushed for- 
ward and scrambled down the rocks as best they 
could to where the little boy lay, making no effort 
to get up, but screaming at the top of his lungs. 

Esther was crying, too, but Delbert managed 
to control himself enough to refrain from that, 
and, frightened as he was, horrified through and 
through, he could still reflect that though such a 
fall might easily have broken his neck, Davie’s 
yells proved he was still very much alive. 

When he reached his little brother and tried to 
pick him up he screamed louder than before, if 
possible, and then Delbert saw that one leg was 
bent in a way that proved even to his inexperi- 
ence that the bone was broken. There was also 
a cut on the head that was bleeding badly. With 
249 


Smugglers’ Island 


white face and shaking fingers Delbert examined 
the head and was relieved to find that the skull 
did not seem to be broken, so he took off the rag 
that was tied about his own head to keep the 



250 


Davie’s Panal Hunt 

hair out of his eyes, and tied it about Davie’s to 
stop the bleeding. There was only salt water to 
be had just there, and Delbert did not know 
enough to know whether that would do at all to 
put on or not, but he knew it would make the 
wounds smart badly, so he did not risk washing 
them with it. 

Esther had already started off to carry the 
news to Marian. Delbert almost wished he had 
gone himself, as he would probably have reached 
the wickiup a few minutes sooner. Still, sup- 
posing Davie were hurt inside! Supposing he 
were to die before Marian got there 1 

If Delbert had been older and wiser, he would 
have known that only about half of Davie’s yells 
were from the pain of his injuries, and the other 
half were from fright at the pain. As it was, not 
daring to move the little fellow a bit lest he hurt 
him more, he could only curl down beside him 
and, putting his arms around him, kiss him and 
talk as soothingly as he could. 

One arm that lay under him Davie did not try 
to move, but he put the other about Delbert’s 
neck and sobbed, “I — want — to go — back 
to — to the — path, Dellie !” 

2SI 


Smugglers' Island 


A week later Delbert sat down and laughed 
till his sides ached over the memory of that 
speech, but at the time it did not strike him as 
being at all funny. 

As soon as she got back to the smooth ground, 
Esther ran like a little deer, ran and ran, stumbled 
and fell twice, and picked herself up and ran 
again till she was out of breath, and walked 
till she regained it, and ran again. She was 
all out of breath when she stumbled into the 
wickiup. 

Marian was not there. She and Jennie had 
started down the new path for water, but in an- 
swer to Esther's wild calls they quickly returned. 
The tears had made streaks through the dirt that 
Esther got on her face when she fell, and she was 
sobbing so she could not talk straight. 

‘‘Oh, he would n't mind Dellie, Marian, he 
would n't mind Dellie, and he fell way down on 
the rocks, and he's all broken and bleedy!" 

It was not a very reassuring way to tell news 
certainly. Jennie began to cry, but though 
Marian's face went white, she remained calm. 

^‘Esther, who fell.?" 

‘‘Davie. He would n't mind Dellie — " 

252 


Davie’s Panal Hunt 

''There, there! Listen, Esther! Esther, is he 
dead?” 

"N — n — not yet,” gasped Esther, "but he’s 
all bleedy and Dellie says his leg is broke, and 
he is crying awfully.” 

Marian drew a long breath; then, "Jennie, 
stop crying, so you can help me,” she said. 
"Esther, sit down there and get your breath. 
Where is Davie? Where did he fall?” 

"Down by Little Pig Cove. He would n’t go 
in the path, and he tried to jump and he fell, and 
Dellie stayed with him.” 

Marian pressed her hands tightly to her 
temples for a moment, and in that moment 
thought of all that she could do. 

"Esther,” she said, "fold that blanket to take 
back with us. Did Delbert have his good lariat 
with him? Yes? Then see if you can find an- 
other stick like this out in the pile. Jennie, hold 
this jar so I can pour what water is in the demi- 
john into it. There, it is n’t full, but we can’t 
stop to go for more now.” 

Esther appeared with the two sticks. Marian 
made a bundle of their old ragged clothes and 
gave it to Jennie to carry; then, taking the jar of 
253 


Smugglers’ Island 


water and the blanket, she followed Esther’s lead 
as fast as she could. 

When they got back to where the boys were, 
they found Davie still lying where he fell, sob- 
bing, but not quite so wildly as at first. 

Delbert, white-faced and shaken still, crouched 
beside him. 

Marian examined the child as well as she 
could. The cut on the head was already ceasing 
to bleed, and the other scratches and bumps, 
ugly though they were, did not alarm her, but at 
sight of that little crooked leg her heart sank. 
How could she set a bone ? She mistrusted that 
the under arm was injured too, and goodness only 
knew how much more. 

She set Jennie and Delbert to making a 
stretcher out of the two sticks and the blanket, 
while she and Esther hunted up some sticks as 
nearly straight as they could find ^ to make a 
temporary splint for the leg, till they could get 
back to the wickiup. 

Every time they moved the leg, Davie 
screamed and beat at them with his good arm. 
He made no attempt to move the other one. At 
last Marian ordered Jennie and Esther to hold 
254 


Davie’s Panal Hunt 

him and his pugnacious little arm, while she and 
Delbert managed the leg. 

Jennie began to cry. ‘‘O Marian, don’t! 
don’t!” she sobbed. 

Marian sat up and pushed back some loose 
strands of hair that straggled over her eyes. 

‘‘Jennie,” she said, “we have got to hurt him. 
We can’t help it. We have got to get him back 
to the wickiup, where I can fix it — as well as I 
can. If we don’t get it right, he will be a cripple 
all his life. The pain won’t kill him ; just the pain 
won’t, dearie. He may faint, but it won’t be any 
worse. Don’t make it worse by your crying.” 

So Jennie controlled herself as well as she 
could, and she and Esther, steeling their hearts, 
held the little arm and head and shoulder down, 
while Marian straightened the leg a little and 
arranged it so it would be held fairly steady as 
they carried him back. Then she turned him 
over and examined the arm. She could not see 
that it was hurt, but she knew it must be. As 
gently as she could, she lifted him on to the 
stretcher and gave him a big drink of water. 
Then they started back. Davie and Esther cried 
all the way. 


Smugglers’ Island 


At the wickiup they laid him as gently as they 
could on the floor, but he screamed with the pain 
nevertheless. Marian set all three of the others 
to bringing up water, and she put some on in the 
little kettle over the fire. 

She washed off the blood and dirt and tore her 
bathing-suit into bandages. Fortunately, it was 
clean, having been washed and boiled in fresh 
water, as it chanced, since she had used it, 
and she put a clean bandage around the head 
in the place of the rather dirty rag that Del- 
bert had tied it with. Then she gathered all 
the little pieces of board they had, and while 
the others brought the water, she worked at 
splints. 

When she had got these ready, she straight- 
ened her patient out on the floor on his back, 
and undid the first hasty bandaging and tried to 
straighten his leg till it would look and feel just 
like the other one. Jennie and Esther were too 
much wrought up by Davie’s suffering to be of 
much service, but Delbert set his white lips to- 
gether and held the screaming child firmly. At 
last they thought it seemed to be right and ban- 
daged it up. 


256 


Davie’s Panal Hunt 

‘‘Marian/’ said Delbert, “his shoulder cracked 
awful funny just now.” 

After a little examination she said, “I guess it 
must have been twisted out of place a little and 
slipped back in. You see, he moves it now, and it 
certainly feels just like the other one, at any rate.” 

She felt him all over, but could find nothing 
more that seemed like broken bones, for which 
she was devoutly thankful. 

She had an idea that Davie must not be moved 
at all for a week at least, and as a precaution 
against this she tied the bandaged leg to the side 
of the wickiup. For the life of her she could not 
remember how long it took a broken bone to heal, 
though she must some time have heard some one 
say ; and of course the others were no wiser. Del- 
bert had it running in his head that it was three 
weeks, but Jennie said, “No, that is how long it 
takes a chicken to hatch.” 

“Anyway,” said Esther, “when it does grow 
together it itches awfully. I heard Mr. Faston 
say so.” 

Davie was so exhausted that he slept quite a 
while that afternoon, but by night he was awake 
and feverish, and, of course, very fretful. 

2S7 


Smugglers’ Island 

Marian kept pouring a little cold water on his 
bandages. She was sure that was the right thing 
to do, and she sat beside him, soothing him by 
every device she could think of and feeling her 
heart grow heavier and heavier as his fever rose 
and he struggled to turn and toss, and moaned 
and cried. 

At night the little girls slept, and Delbert too 
to some extent, but there was no sleep for 
Marian. She was afraid there was some internal 
injury, not knowing that the fever was the nat- 
ural result of the shock and hurt and only what 
any doctor would have expected. 

She kept the bandages wet with cold water 
and wrung out hot cloths and applied them to the 
sore and lame spots. She bathed and rubbed and 
worked over Davie and she kept her voice cheer- 
ful and her eyes smiling, though a sickening fear 
held her heart. 

It was days and days before she could feel at 
all easy, but the fever departed, the swellings 
went down, and no more lame spots came to 
light. Davie ate well and slept fairly well too. 
He began to regain his old sunny ways, and the 
tension on Marian’s nerves relaxed. But, of 
258 


Davie’s Panal Hunt 

course, she had to stay by him pretty closely; 
so the other children performed the business of 
the day alone. 

They attended to the garden and went down 
after each tide to see if there were any fish 
in High-Tide Pool, because, though they never 
found a whole school in there as they had on that 
day soon after their arrival, still there were very 
likely to be one or two lurking in the dark hole in 
the rocks, and one child would wade in and scare 
them out, and Delbert, standing ready with the 
spear, would gather them in. There were quite a 
number of places among the rocks where fish, 
and often big fish, were to be found after high 
tide. If they could get them that way, it saved 
going at night, and of course they could not well 
do that now. Anyway, it took quite a pile of 
fitalla to light them for a night’s spearing, and 
pitalla was getting scarce in the near neighbor- 
hood. 


CHAPTER X 
Delbert’s big game 

Delbert was getting tired of small game now. 
He began to plan for deer and pork. He made 
himself a new bow, larger and stronger than he 
had ever had before, with a new, strong string, 
and he made new arrows tipped with the best 
points he could get, and then he and Esther 
went deer-hunting. 

Jennie always stayed with Marian, to help 
with Davie and because she really did not like 
hunting. She could not bear to kill things nor 
to see them killed. She carried her bow and ar- 
rows and shot at marks along with the rest of 
them, and sometimes at game, but she never 
seemed to enjoy it when she hit it. 

As soon as it was light enough for them to see 
their way at all, Delbert and Esther would creep 
out and try for a close approach to the deer. 
Sometimes they did not come back till about 
noon, their only breakfast having been some 
raw vegetables carried with them, a few bananas 
260 


Delbert’s Big Game 

usually, which they carried in their quivers 
with their arrows, — sometimes not even that. 
Marian had no hopes of their ever getting a deer, 
but she never discouraged them. She and Jennie 
could manage Davie and tend the little burros, 
and the lessons could be studied in the after- 
noons. Davie, poor boy, certainly had to take 
his lessons with great regularity in those days; 
there was no way he could escape from them. 
Marian had had to loosen his bandages a number 
of times, but she did not yet dare take them off, 
though she had not kept him strapped to the 
house very long. 

Marian now began to study very earnestly on 
the spinning and weaving problem. Rabbit-skin 
clothing was very unsatisfactory, as were the 
crocheted fiber things, too, though for different 
reasons, but little King David’s misfortune had 
simply wiped every other kind out of existence. 
What with bandages and towels, there was not 
one single thin, worn garment left, only a little 
pile of frayed rags. Marian took her swim at 
night now. It was imperative that new clothes 
be acquired in some way, and she thought and 
thought, and was just beginning to see light on 
261 


Smugglers’ Island 

the subject when Esther came tearing in one 
morning, breathless and disheveled, to announce 
that Delbert had killed his deer. 

His sisters could scarcely credit the story, 
but Marian took the path straightway, leaving 
Jennie to keep Davie company and give him his 
frequently demanded drinks of water and dampen 
his bandages and see if he had remembered from 
yesterday the little words written on the big 
clamshell. Marian found Delbert dancing a ver- 
itable war dance round a fair-sized buck. The 
thing had happened almost as far back as Little 
Pig Cove, where Davie had fallen, and, in a way, 
the two occurrences were somewhat similar. 

Delbert and Esther had crept along that 
morning, as luck would have it, in time to wit- 
ness a very serious disagreement between two 
bucks. The wind was in their favor; otherwise 
they might not have got quite so close to where 
the two were struggling together. 

Perhaps one of them had thought they should 
cross the pasture on the level land, perhaps the 
other wanted the herd to hunt panales among 
the rocks. Delbert never knew what the quarrel 
was about. He had read of such things, but this 
262 


Delbert’s Big Game 

was his first chance to see anything of the sort. 
His blood leaped, and his eyes sparkled. Esther, 
a little behind him, practically inclined, fitted an 
arrow to her bow and shot. In her excitement the 
shaft went wide of the mark; so much so that no 
one, not even the deer, noticed it at all, a result 
which so sobered her that she did not try again. 
Delbert was actually forgetting to shoot at all, 
which Esther afterwards declared was worse 
than shooting and missing, even as wildly as she 
had. 

But the stronger of the two bucks was begin- 
ning to push the other about, and in the scuffle 
they worked nearer and nearer to the edge of the 
rocks, though it is hardly likely this was other 
than accidental. Probably they were so taken up 
with their tussle that they did not notice where 
they were going. But presently a rock loosened 
and slipped, and then, before they could realize 
what was happening, a great mass of rocks and 
earth and bushes fell thundering down the steep 
to the level strip below. 

Esther screamed and ran back; the group of 
deer which had been watching the combat also 
fled, and did not stop till they had reached the 
263 


Smugglers’ Island 


safety of the farther pasture. One of the fighting 
bucks was able to spring back and save himself, 
and he fled with the rest, but the other one went 
down with the avalanche. 

Delbert, with a shout, ran forward and began 
clambering down where it was not so steep and 



HE COULD SEE THE BUCK STRUGGLING TO FREE HIMSELF 


appeared to be perfectly safe. In a minute he 
could see the buck struggling to free himself 
from the mass of debris. Even then he did not 
think of the trusty bow and arrows he had 
taken such pains with for this very occasion, 
264 


Delbert’s Big Game 

but, pulling out his long knife, he ran forward, 
and, by the time Esther had scrambled down 
beside him, the deer had ceased to kick, and 
Delbert was tugging at the rocks that still partly 
covered it. He sent her post-haste for Marian, 
and when they got back to him, he had the deer 
pulled out on a clear space and was already be- 
ginning to skin it. 

Neither of them knew a thing about cutting 
up such an animal except what they dimly re- 
membered used to be done at ‘^Grandpa’s” at 
hog-butchering time, but they managed to get 
the skin off after a fashion and they chopped and 
cut away at the rest, breaking the bones with a 
stone or the hatchets when they could not find a 
joint. 

The discarded parts they would leave there, 
for it was too far to carry them to the water- 
melon-patch for fertilizer, and there were plenty 
of the scavengers of the sea waiting for them to 
go so that they could clean up after them. The 
good meat they tied up in the skin, and they 
swung it on a pole and carried it home be- 
tween them, Esther carrying the hatchet and 
knives. 


26s 


Smugglers’ Island 


It was past noon when, blood-stained and 
weary, they arrived at the wickiup. Jennie was 
getting anxious, and Davie was decidedly fretful. 
Delbert was then sent out to the salt reef to bring 
back all the salt there was there. They would 
need it besides what they already had in the 
wickiup, for Marian was determined not to lose 
a bit of that meat. She cleaned up the pail and 
hung it over the fire too, for the kettle would not 
hold all the bones. Some of the ribs were put to 
roast immediately, and then she set to work cut- 
ting up and salting and hanging up to dry. They 
stretched a line out in the sun and hung the 
pieces over that. 

The skin would fill several long-felt wants, one 
of which was to provide Marian with sandals. 
Her leather ones had worn entirely out, and she 
had tried fiber ones without much success; she 
had even tried wooden ones. 

Before that meat was half gone, — and they 
ate with true Indian appetites, — Delbert had 
determined to go after pork. There was a certain 
place on the farther end of the island where the 
pigs were pretty apt to be found, especially in the 
heat of the day. It was back from the shore, but 
266 


Delbert’s Big Game 

low. In fact, it was a lagoon of water in the rainy 
season and contained water till near the rains 
again. In one or two places the fresh water oozed 
out all the year round. It was here that the 
young hunter proposed to make his attack. 

The boy’s idea was certainly novel. Good as 
his new bow and arrows were, he did not really 
suppose he could kill a hog with them except by 
accident. Perhaps a shot through the eye would 
be fatal, — he was not sure, — but if one was 
merely wounded there was danger of the rest 
showing fight, and — well, Delbert proposed to 
take no chances. 

So where the big rocks, solid as the Island it- 
self, overhung the bushes and little pools below, 
he would establish himself. Here he would be 
where the game could not get at him without 
making a detour of a quarter of a mile or so, and, 
after he had cut some brush and piled it properly, 
they could not see him either. 

So with his hair rope he made a trap or snare 
across a much-used pig path, the rope running 
up over a crude but strong pulley and being tied 
about a good-sized cactus in the rocks above. 
With the butcher knife lashed to the end of a 
267 


Smugglers’ Island 

good stout pole and several such implements by 
his side he sat and waited patiently. 

When it became pretty warm, the pigs as- 
sembled by the lagoon to drink and wallow in the 
mud. Before so very long the Muggywah ap- 
peared, with Jennie and Esther on board. They 
moored her out a little way and waded in. 
Quietly they drove the herd up toward the rocks 
and bushes, for, though not what could be called 
wild, the pigs would not permit a close approach. 
Presently one of them poked his nose through 
Delbert’s waiting noose, and Delbert fairly held 
his breath till he stepped on, and then he gave a 
mighty jerk and began hauling in his rope over 
the pulley. He had caught the porker just back 
of one front leg, and the astonishment of that 
pig and his companions when he was thus lifted 
bodily into the air was enough, Delbert after- 
ward said, to pay him for all his trouble. 

From behind his screen of rocks and bushes he 
pulled the squealing animal up till he could reach 
him with a sort of shepherd’s crook he had pro- 
vided himself with; whereupon he fastened the 
rope and pulled the pig in out of sight of its com- 
panions and dispatched it. 

268 


Delbert’s Big Game 


At the first squeal the girls had retreated most 
hastily to the Muggywah and pushed off, pad- 
dling back till they were well out of sight of the 



herd of pigs, when they moored the craft again, 
this time to a rock on shore, and, ascending the 
hill, circled round back till they found Delbert 
cutting up the game. 

269 


Smugglers’ Island 


They did by it as they had done by the deer, — 
skinned it and carried the meat home tied up in 
the skin slung over a pole. They had a stick 
with a fork at one end, so each of the girls could 
take a fork, and Delbert managed the other 
end. 

After that Delbert had no more taste for pot- 
ting small game. He spent his time thinking up 
tricks and traps for deer and pigs. The deer 
were not such easy marks, but the pigs, being 
more stupid or less shy, could often be success- 
fully bagged by practically the same tactics as 
he had used the first time. 

Finally Marian suggested to him that it would 
be in the long run a great saving of time and an 
all-round better plan if he would build a good 
little pen somewhere and catch rather small pigs 
and put them into it, where they could fatten 
them up on garden stuff, of which they had 
plenty now, — the inferior bananas, for in- 
stance, — and then they could kill them when 
they chose. Jennie thought of a good place for a 
pen, close to the watermelon-patch, where there 
was a scrubby tree or two and a great overhang- 
ing rock that the pigs could go under for shade 
270 


Delbert’s Big Game 

and shelter, and where they would not have to 
build a fence except on two sides. 

The plan was put into operation and worked 
very well. They built the fence mostly of rocks 
piled up into a wall, and when it was finished^ 
Delbert stocked it with youngsters that he was 
sure were quite old enough to leave their mothers. 
And the catching of them and the conveying of 
them across to the pen gave him much glee in 
spite of the hard labor involved. 

The pork when killed was cured with salt and 
smoke. Marian did not have very good success 
with the last method, yet she managed it after a 
fashion. First she tried smoking the meat by 
hanging it over their chimney, but that was too 
hot, for it cooked it as well as smoking it and 
fried out all the grease too. But she did better 
when she built a smokehouse where a tiny fire 
discharged its smoke through a tunnel in a bank 
that terminated in a little cubby-hole affair of 
sticks and rocks where the meat was laid. They 
called it a smokehouse. It was a sort of doll 
smokehouse. The meat was always cut in rather 
small pieces and well salted, for Marian had a 
horror of spoilt meat. 


271 


Smugglers’ Island 


Soap was also attempted, — staggered at, 
Marian said. She knew little about it, but had 
seen Bobbie’s mother making it, and she hap- 
pened to know that ashes contained lye. The 
bottom of the wickerwork around the good demi- 
john had worn clear through. Marian carefully 
broke it away at the neck as well and took it off 
entirely. Then, tipping it upside down, she had 
a basket forsooth. She lined the sides with green 
banana leaves and filled it full of ashes. 

She rigged it up where she could slip under it 
the old broken demijohn they had found in the 
cove and had used so much, which would hold 
about a gallon. Then she poured a little water 
on the ashes, and when that soaked in, a little 
more, and kept it up till she had it dripping 
through into the old demijohn below. Thus she 
leached out her lye. And if it did not seem very 
strong, she could boil it down in the porcelain 
kettle, which was the only thing she had that 
she dared use for that purpose, though she could 
boil things and even try out her grease in Mr. 
Cunningham’s pail. 

When the lye was stout enough to suit her, she 
put it into the two-quart glass jar or the bottles, 
272 


Delbert’s Big Game 

and finally she started in with the soap-making. 
Well, she made it, but don’t imagine it was nice 
white, sweet-smelling soap, such as you can buy, 
for it certainly was not. She made, first and last, 
a good many batches. Some of it would harden, 
and some would not. 

What did harden she cut into cakes and put on 
a shelf to dry, where it would proceed to do so, 
shrinking itself up into the most absurd shapes 
of about half its former size. And what would 
not harden, she put into broken bottles or great 
shells or hollowed-out pieces of wood, but it was 
nearly all black in color and smelled — oh, like 
nothing in the world but very strong-smelling 
soap, but it would make a lather, after a fashion, 
and would take out dirt and grease. 


CHAPTER XI 

WHEREWITHAL SHALL WE BE CLOTHED? 

Marianas grandmothers had known how to 
spin and weave, and as a little girl she herself had 
seen the old wheels and looms of her ancestors 
and had had their workings explained to her. 
But her childish mind had understood little, and 
the intervening years had wiped out much of 
that. Still, there remained a little, a wavering 
memory that she called up now and caused to 
supplement her grown-up knowledge of how 
such things must needs be worked out. 

"H need two wheels, Delbert,” she said, "'and a 
band to go from one to the other as on mother’s 
sewing-machine. One wheel must be small, and 
I think this spool will do. J ennie, you can wind off 
what ’s left of the thread on to this little stick in- 
stead. But where can I get the other wheel ? It 
must be big.” 

"There’s the bottom of the old barrel,” sug- 
gested Delbert. "We can make something else 
to put on the Muggywah to carry things in.” 

274 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

“That’s so/’ said Marian; “I could burn a 
hole through the center to run an axle through 
and another one to stick a handle in near the 
edge to turn it by.” 

“ But does n’t the wheel have to have a groove 
on it? Mamma’s machine wheel did, — grooved, 
you know, so the band could n’t slip off.” 

“No, if I remember rightly, the big wheel on 
grandma’s spinning-wheel was very wide, or had 
a wide tire, and the band was so narrow there 
was no danger of its getting off. There probably 
was a groove on the little wheel, and our spool 
will fix that, you see, as well as if it had been 
made specially; but I don’t see my way clear yet 
to making that barrel-bottom carry the band. 
Maybe I can char the edge and make a groove 
in it.” 

Investigation proved the bottom of the barrel 
to be made of two pieces which would come apart 
as soon as the pressure of the staves was re- 
moved. That, however, was remedied by nailing 
two bits of boards across the two pieces. 

Where did she get the nails? Well, she had 
been saving them up for a long time. Two of 
them had been in Davie’s apron pockets when 
27s 


Smugglers’ Island 

they came to the Island, and one had chanced to 
be lying in the bottom of the lunch-basket. The 
others had been picked up one time and another 
in bits of driftwood on the beaches. Most of 
these were too crooked and rusty to be good for 
much, but there were enough good ones to fasten 
the pieces of the barrel-bottom securely together. 
Then they knocked off the hoops and staves and 
released the round piece, and burned the center 
hole, and another near the rim to put a handle in 
to turn it by, as Marian had said. 

By this time she had abandoned the idea of 
charring the edge and making a groove. She 
gathered a lot of little straight pieces about five 
inches long and varying in width, some round 
but most little flat pieces, and in the center of 
each she cut a V-shaped notch and pounded 
them down tight on the edge of the wheel till 
she had circled it entirely, in that manner, then 
tied two strings round near the ends of the little 
sticks to bind them so they would not loosen up 
and come off. 

She decided to use the same iron bar for an 
axle for the wheel to turn on that she had used 
to burn the holes in it with, and she pounded it 
276 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

into a crack in the rock wall of the wickiup. The 
outer end of the bar had a sort of knob on it, — 
it might once have been a nut, — so that the 
wheel would not slip off, and to keep it from 
wandering in the other direction up to the wall 
she twisted a bit of rope round the bar and tied it 
to make a good-sized knot on that side. 

She was not quite satisfied with the rim of her 
wheel, and she worked a long while, weaving and 
winding fiber in and out till she had it all smooth 
with no chance of any of the little pieces being 
knocked loose. For the rest of her apparatus she 
had to do some searching for materials. She 
spent a full half-day up in the pasture before she 
found what she had decided she must have, — a 
straight little tree that divided into two branches 
about three feet up. She cut it close to the ground 
and trimmed off the top, leaving the forks about 
six inches long. 

A piece of driftwood flat on one side was taken 
for the base, and a hole was burned in the middle 
of it and enlarged till the forked stick could be 
inserted and made snug by driving in little pegs 
where it did not fit tight. Two little holes were 
burned through the two forks. She used a big 
277 


Smugglers’ Island 


old nail to do that, for she did not want such 
big holes as the bar would have made, — besides, 
the bar was tight in the wall now with the big 
wheel swung on it. A little round stick that fitted 
snug into the spool was then made into a spin- 



dle. It turned nicely in the two little burned 
holes in the forks. 

However, the standard was not heavy enough 
of itself to stand as firmly as would be required, 
so one end of the driftwood base was slipped 
under a rock projection, and then Delbert tugged 
in as big a rock as he could lift and set it down on 
the other end. 


278 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

Now all that was lacking was a band to con- 
nect the two wheels. Marian crocheted this out 
of fiber, just wide enough to fit the spool. 

Any of the children could turn the big wheel. 
Even Davie would be able to when he got up. 
This left Marian’s hands free to manipulate her 
cotton at the spindle. 

Probably no spinning-wheel that was ever 
built was just like that one, but that did not dis- 
turb Marian’s equanimity so long as her wheel 
would spin, and that it certainly did. True, her 
yarn was always lumpy ; she never did get so she 
could make it nice and smooth, but she was con- 
vinced that that was the fault of the manipula- 
tion of the cotton, for the wheel itself went quite 
swiftly and smoothly. 

After she had spun up all their cotton, which 
included that from the wild cotton-tree, which 
she mixed in with that of the now flourishing 
bushes in the garden, she got out the little bundle 
of the combings of their hair, which she had 
saved ever since about the first of their being on 
the island, and she finally got that all spun into 
yarn too. It took as much time to prepare her 
material for spinning as it did to spin it, but the 
279 


Smugglers’ Island 

children helped with the cotton. They all, Davie 
included, got to be quite expert at picking out 
cotton seeds. 

The next problem was weaving. Delbert was 
unexpectedly helpful at that. He knew nothing 
of his grandmother’s loom, but once upon a time 
he had seen a woman weaving a rag carpet, and 
on that never-to-be-forgotten trip with Clarence 
and his father he had seen an old Indian weaving 
on a loom. 

As, however, the son of the old Indian had 
been blest with a number of fighting cocks which 
he was very desirous of showing off to the Ameri- 
cans, the small boy had bestowed most of his 
attention on the pugnacious birds instead of on 
the sober and less interesting loom; with the 
result that of the two processes that of rag- 
carpet weaving was really the clearer in his 
mind, though it had been witnessed earlier. 

'‘There were two rollers,” he told Marian. 
"One had the threads and one had the carpet, 
and there were two little frame things something 
like in a beehive, only with strings across, and 
when one jerked up it lifted up every other 
thread, and she’d throw the thing through and 
280 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

then the other would jerk up and that lifted the 
other every other thread, and she’d throw it 
back again and pound it down with a stick.” 

Marian drew a long breath. ‘"Delbert,” she 
said, “it sounds just like a nightmare.” 

Delbert stared. “Why,” he said, “I can see it 
just as plain as can be, only I can’t remember 
how it was made.” 

“ Probably we could n’t make one just like it, 
anyway,” she consoled him. 

Indeed, after much cogitating, she decided 
that an actual loom was beyond their resources, 
just at that time, at least, and concluded to weave 
by the simple method followed by the Indians in 
weaving the fajas,^ or narrow sashes the men 
wear. They had seen this done by an Indian 
woman at the Port. 

This calls for two pairs of forks set in the 
ground and two round sticks laid across the forks. 
The thread for the warp is wound round these 
sticks, from one to the other, over both and then 
under both, across and across, till the sticks are 
full. 

A thin flat stick is then woven in under one 

^ Pronounced fah'hahss. 

281 


Smugglers’ Island 

thread and over the next of the top layer of 
threads, and then turned up on edge. This makes 
a space to pass the shuttle through, and the 
shuttle, by the way, is simply a slender stick 
with the filling wound on it. 

Then the flat stick is pulled out and woven in 
again and the process repeated again and again. 
As fast as is needed, the round sticks are turned 
over, thus turning the woven cloth underneath 
till all but a few inches of the warp has been 
woven. These threads are then cut and form the 
fringe on the ends of the faja, 

Marian changed the plan a little. Two little 
crotches were set in the floor of the wickiup just 
at the right height to be handy to work at. They 
had to dig up the floor to get them set right, 
but when they were set, the children smoothed 
things over and packed the seaweed carpet down 
again. 

A smooth round stick about as big as Marian’s 
wrist was laid across the crotches. The other 
roller was much smaller around, and instead of 
being put on a pair of crotches was fastened to 
the side of the house with loops of rope, being 
just loose enough to turn easily in the loops. 

282 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

Then came the task of wrapping the warp 
round the two rollers. It had to be very even and 
snug, and every once in a while a thread would 



THE LOOM 


break and have to be tied, and altogether it 
called for a good deal of patience. 

"‘I remember,’’ said Delbert, ‘"that on the 
carpet the lady wove, this part was all red and 
green. She had a wide stripe of red in the middle 
and a wide stripe of green out a little way from 
it on both sides, and in between were narrow 
283 


Smugglers’ Island 

stripes, but, on the very outside, on each edge, 
there was a stripe of red just half as wide as the 
one in the center, and she explained it to me. 
She said it was so that when the carpet was all 
sewed together it would make a red stripe just 
the same size as the one in the middle. The rags 
that she put in the other way were all kinds of 
colors.” 

“How came you to remember all that ?” asked 
Jennie. 

“Dunno, but I do.” 

When the warp was all ready, Marian tried 
weaving in the cross-thread with her darning- 
needle, as she would have mended a sock; but 
that was altogether too long and tedious a proc- 
ess, so she hunted for a thin flat stick such as the 
Indians have, to weave in and turn up on edge to 
hold the threads apart, while she slipped through 
a shuttle which she made of a weed stalk. That 
did better, but was not wholly satisfactory, and 
Delbert kept thinking and thinking, trying to re- 
member how that part of the work had been done 
on the carpet-loom. He could not get it entirely 
clear in his head, but he finally evolved a plan 
that answered the purpose. 

284 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

He arranged a pair of harnesses — though 
neither he nor Marian knew that that was their 
name — of two sticks wound with thread that 
looped down round the threads of the warp. 
These harnesses were connected by a rope that 
ran over a spool pulley that he fixed in the roof. 
Marian pulled this rope a little^ and that lifted 
one of the harnesses and with it every other 
thread of the warp ; she thrust through her weed- 
stalk shuttle, then pulled that harness down, 
which released the upheld threads, at the same 
time lifting the harness and with it all the other 
threads. 

With this device she could accomplish two or 
three times as much in the same space of time, 
and she was not at all niggardly in her praise. 
Delbert glowed in consequence and, of course, 
Esther glowed with him. Even Jennie, who was 
most apt to be a little skeptical of Delbert’s abil- 
ities, had nothing but the most respectful re- 
marks to offer on the subject. 

With this crude loom they could weave a piece 
of cloth about a foot wide by six feet long, and 
the children were all so interested and eager to 
work at it, and it was such a simple process, that 
285 


Smugglers’ Island 

they all easily learned; so Marian did not have 
all the weaving to do. 

Marian had kept Davie’s leg bandaged till she 
was very sure that it must be well knit together, 
and then she would not have him bear his 
weight on it for almost a week after. She was so 
very ignorant as to how such things should be 
attended to that she simply did not know what 
might happen. So she would undo it every day 
and bathe and rub and work with it and then do 
it up again, leaving it more and more loose and 
finally gave him permission to walk on it a little, 
but even then she kept the splints on it and pro- 
vided him with a sort of a crutch. 

When at last she discarded all bindings and 
allowed him to go free, they watched him most 
jealously. There was a queer little half-limp that 
Marian saw immediately. She hoped it would 
pass off in a week or so, and it did get better, but 
it never entirely disappeared. In spite of all her 
care, something had not been just right, and little 
King David never walked quite straight again. 

Marion felt much worse about it than he did. 
As long as he could walk and run and swim, 
what did he care if one leg was a trifle shorter 
286 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

than the other? He could roam the Island wilds 
with the rest of them now, and that was joy 
enough. 

Marian hoped his experience would teach him 
wisdom, and she did her best to impress it upon 
his mind that when she was not there Delbert’s 
authority came next; that, as Delbert was the 
oldest, it was his duty to take care of the younger 
ones, and they must obey him. 

Davie admitted that he had not really needed 
to look for panalesy that he could plainly see he 
would have saved himself a great deal of pain and 
trouble if he had minded Delbert, and he even 
went so far as to say of his own accord that he 
wished he had. Also, at Marian’s request, he 
promised, to be ‘^more good” in the future. 

This was all she could hope for in that direc- 
tion, and she took pains to instruct Delbert, 
when the others were not present, that, while she 
fully intended to back up his authority, at the 
same time he must take care not to issue orders 
that were not really necessary. She did not 
worry about his having trouble with the girls, 
for Esther would think anything Delbert wanted 
was the thing to do, anyway, and Jennie was 
287 


Smugglers’ Island 


growing into such a sensible little woman that 
her judgment could be depended upon as well 
as Delbert’s own; but Delbert was to take care 
that he came pretty near letting Davie have his 
own way in the minor, unimportant things and 
only issue orders to him when there was some 
reason for. it. 

She also privately instructed the little girls to 
use their influence whenever they could to keep 
Davie within bounds and see that he gave Del- 
bert as little trouble as possible. And there she 
had to leave the matter, trusting for the best, for 
she could not always go with them now, the 
spinning and weaving and the making of their 
clothes took up so much of her time. The chil- 
dren would go off of a morning and sometimes 
not be back till nearly noon, coming in laden 
with fish, or maybe clams, or with great arm- 
loads of wood. 

While they were gone, Marian would clean up 
the wickiup and work a while among the great 
mass of poppies and nasturtiums she had grow- 
ing about the house and paths; but the wheel 
and loom were the principal things. She spun 
her cotton and hair-combings as fine as she could, 
288 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

so as to make them go as far as possible, and 
then she was always looking for new material. 
She learned to work in a great deal of fiber with- 
out spinning, especially in the filling, and many 
and many a morning was spent in cleaning out 
banana fiber to be used in her cloth. Oh, there 
was always plenty to keep her busy till the chil- 
dren came back at noon. They would be hungry, 
and there would be dinner to eat, and then les- 
sons, and afterwards they would help with what- 
ever she had in hand. 

And for the lessons she took up another labor, 
that of making books of rabbit-skins. She had 
Delbert bring her some new skins, and she used 
part of the old skin clothes, which had been 
promptly- discarded as fast as she had made new 
ones. She would trim her pages to the desired 
size and sew them together with fiber or hair. 
She used her little buttonhole scissors for the 
cutting, and of course she had real needles, 
though she thought that she could have made 
shift with thorns if she had had to. Her ink was 
brown. 

Her pens were made of quills, and she could 
not write very nicely with them. Fine lines and 
289 


Smugglers’ Island 

graceful curves were not easy to achieve with 
them, so she discarded script and ‘‘printed” her 
books, as little children do before they have 
learned to write. 

I think in time she would have worked out a 
printing-press to print her books on. Indeed, 
she did take the first step; she began to make 
type. It began accidentally almost. A pen had 
gone bad, and in fixing it her knife slipped and 
spoiled it altogether. Then, her mind on some- 
thing else, she began toying with it idly and 
presently cut it square across and, pressing it 
down on her wrist, noted the neat o it printed 
there. Then it struck her that if it were inked it 
would make a better o than she could with a 
pen. She tried it, and it worked. 

A second quill cut across and a section taken 
out made a c. It gave her an idea. Why not 
make a lot of type.? It could not all be made 
with quills, but it would be amusing to see 
what she could do. She whittled out from bits 
of wood a capital and a /F, and a D, She 
needed an ink-pad, and made it by padding a 
chip with cotton and then covering it with one 
of her last scraps of lawn. 

290 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

Her type worked well enough, but it would be 
too much bother to whittle out the whole alpha- 
bet. The little letters would be beyond her skill, 
anyway, and it would be slower printing one 
type at a time than it was writing them. But by 
that time she had thought of a way whereby she 
might make a few types serve for the whole al- 
phabet, as all letters are composed of curves and 
straight lines. 

The curves she could make of quills, which 
were finer than anything she could whittle out, 
and the straight lines she made on the end of a 
little bone, two of them, — one for long lines, 
one for short ones. Four quills properly cut fur- 
nished her with an assortment of curves, and she 
could hold all six in her left hand between the 
first and middle fingers, which was better than 
laying them down and picking them up each 
time she wished to change. It was too much 
bother to change with every letter, too, so she 
would take one and make all she wanted of that 
kind clear across the page, then she would change 
and make all of another kind, and so on. She 
soon learned to gauge her distances properly. 

It was no quicker than writing, but she could 
291 


Smugglers’ Island 

put her lines closer together, thus getting more 
on a page, and her letters were more uniform, 
and there were no more blots. It used the ink 
up faster than plain writing, for it dried out from 
the pad, but, as it chanced, there were plenty of 
ink materials. 

The children were delighted; it was easier to 
read than the old-time script, and it looked so 
neat and businesslike. 

In those soft skin books Marian put every 
poem or set of verses that she could remember. 
She began with Mother Goose rhymes and graded 
on up to ‘‘The Charge of the Light Brigade” and 
“Thanatopsis,” which she had learned to speak 
at school. Into one book went Bible verses and 
several whole chapters from the holy book, no- 
tably the twenty-third Psalm and the thirteenth 
chapter of First Corinthians. 

Anything and everything pleased the children. * 
They learned to read everything and to repeat a 
great deal by heart. Esther especially was a per- 
fect little parrot and could reel off all kinds of 
lofty sentiment of the meaning of which she had 
no conception. Jennie and Delbert always had 
to study longer on a thing, and Davie, where 
292 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed ? 

lessons were concerned, was a little lazybones. 
Davie never learned anything that he did not 
have to, and Marian had such a time getting 
the fundamentals well rooted in his memory 
that she never tried to plant anything there that 
was not necessary. He was as quick and keen as 
any of them in other things, though, and it filled 
Marian’s heart with pride to see how fearless he 
was in the water and how little he was behind 
the others in that element. 

As fast as she could, Marian replaced the rab- 
bit-skin clothes with the newer, better ones, but 
the style of making was the same, — low-necked, 
sleeveless dresses with rather scant, short skirts, 
for material, was scarce. Delbert still clung to 
his ‘^loin-cloth,” and Marian was more than 
willing, it was so much simpler than trousers. 
Even David, for the sake of wearing some of the 
product of their combined labor, consented to be 
clothed like Delbert, and as he found a loin- 
cloth did not impede his actions in any way, he 
continued to sport one from- then on. There was 
one thing in favor of the new clothes : they cer- 
tainly wore well ; there was no shoddy in them. 

Gradually Jennie spent more and more time 

293 


Smugglers’ Island 

at the wickiup. For one thing, the children did 
not like to go off and leave Marian alone all the 
morning, and as Davie was growing so big that 
he could help appreciably, there was really no 
need for so many of them on the morning excur- 
sions. 

So Jennie stayed with Marian. Her particular 
forte was making baskets. Jennie could make 
beautiful baskets. She wove them of straws and 
tough weeds and palm-leaf. Her only teachers 
were her memories of certain kindergarten les- 
sons, the big basket they had brought their 
lunch in, and a rather blurry picture down in one 
corner of the old newspaper of a half-dozen In- 
dian baskets with strange designs. For the rest 
she taught herself, and when she once got inter- 
ested in the work she wanted to do nothing else. 

It was Jennie who made a basket of split 
palm-leaves to take the place of the old barrel on 
the Muggywah. She would sit for hours on the 
seaweed carpet of the wickiup, leaning against 
the pile of bedding, and weave and weave, the 
work growing much faster under her slim brown 
fingers than it did under Marian’s. Indeed, after 
Jennie took to making baskets, Marian and the 
294 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

rest quit. What was the use of their wasting 
their time when Jennie could do it so much bet- 
ter and quicker? 

She made big baskets to carry wood and clams 
in ; she made little ones to hang up in the wickiup 
to drop little pieces of moss and seashells into. 
She loved the little ones best. She made them in 
patterns. She colored some of her material a 
dull red with juice from the cactus fruit and 
some of it brown with Marian’s ink. She used 
some kinds of seaweed, and she made one basket 
with a row of starfish around the edge and over 
the handle, and she made some with lids. When 
Marian’s hat wore out, Jennie made her a new 
one, weaving^it as she did her baskets and trim- 
ming it with sprays of seaweed and shells. 

The ordinary rains did not inconvenience 
them, but when they were very severe the wick- 
iup leaked a little down the rock wall. They had 
not been able to make the roof perfectly tight 
there, and the water, when the wind blew hard, 
would find its way down ; then they would have 
to remove whatever was hanging or leaning 
against that side, and Marian would turn back 
the seaweed carpet so that it should not get wet, 

29s 


Smugglers’ Island 

and the water would run down the wall and soak 
into the sand and rocks of the floor. They en- 
joyed the big rains, though. They could always 
keep warm and dry, and the wickiup was big 
enough to allow each one to move about a 
little and follow whatever occupation he or 
she chose. 

It was on a rainy day that Marian conceived 
the idea of weaving up the old rags that had been 
their clothes into new cloth, though the task was 
not finished on that one day by any means, nor 
in two. She had used up everything she had on 
hand in the way of thread ; so she made the warp 
out of new hair clipped from her own and the 
children’s heads with the buttonhole scissors; 
and with the same sharp little instrument she 
cut the old rags into strips, as narrow as she 
could and have them hold together at all, and 
wove them in as rag carpets are woven ; and lo ! 
she had new towels, and they needed new towels 
very much. 

So time passed, rainy season and cold weather 
and rainy season again. Often at night they 
built brush fires out on the rocks where they 
could be seen a long way off. Their signal flag 
296 


Wherewithal shall we be clothed? 

had been blown down one stormy night and lost 
altogether. 

Sometimes, far out, they saw canoes and 
started out in the Muggywah to intercept them, 
but the canoes always went on their way too 
fast and too far to be overtaken. 

Once, when the children were gone in the 
Muggywah after eggs, Marian sighted a canoe 



IT SEEMED AS IF THEY MUST SURELY HAVE SEEN OR HEARD HER 


and started to swim out to it with only a piece 
of driftwood to help keep her afloat. She got 
so close to them that it seemed as if they must 
surely have seen or heard her, but they put up 
their sail, and, despairing, she had to see them 
depart. Giving up the chase, she rested a little 
297 


Smugglers’ Island 

before battling her way slowly back, but she 
arrived so tired that she could scarcely drag her- 
self out of the water and across the beach, to find 
the children returned and hunting desperately 
for her. 

Then one day they hauled the Muggywah up 
on the beach for repairs. Two of the sticks 
driven through the burnt holes had broken, and 
they were going to put in new ones. They took 
it apart and rolled the logs up beyond the soft 
sand into the shade of a mesquite tree that grew 
at the foot of the hill. 

The next day they found the material they had 
got was not so good as they had thought it was, 
and so they spent the day hunting for something 
better. And that night came the second big 
storm. 


CHAPTER XII 

DISASTER AND A NEW TASK 

The storm was fully as severe as the one that 
had welcomed the children to the Island, though 
they did not realize what they were in for till 
midnight. When it began to blow so strong that 
they were really sure a storm was coming, Del- 
bert took their best ropes and securely moored 
the logs of the Muggywah to the tree, thinking 
it barely possible that the waves might reach up 
to them if the wind kept on increasing. And such 
a terrible wind as it threatened to be ! 

They turned the little burros loose with their 
mothers, — there were four of them that year, 
— and the one little pig that they happened to 
have in the pen was also turned out to seek its 
shelter where it chose. The little girls tried to 
get it into the wickiup, but it was wild and es- 
caped them, and Marian told them to let it go, 
that it would take care of itself. 

They gathered in the best of the melons, for 
there was no knowing if there would be one left 
299 


Smugglers’ Island 


by morning, the sandy point was so low ; and they 
piled up a great stack of wood and pitalla by the 
fireplace ; and then it was too dark to do anymore. 

The wind howled and the waves broke on the 
beach like mighty thunders. The thatch of their 
roof struggled to be gone, and the water poured 
down the wall in a steady sheet. Fortunately, it 
could soak through the sand and rocks of the 
floor and run off down the hill as fast as it came 
in; otherwise they would have been flooded. The 
window and the storm doors were tied as tightly 
as possible, and Marian watched them closely 
and thanked her stars that she had insisted oii 
taking such endless pains to have everything 
about the house solid and sure. 

Of course, they were protected somewhat by 
the cliff, and the girl shuddered to think what 
would have happened had they not been. She 
imagined how it would seem to go crawling 
through the fury of the storm, holding to one 
another’s hands, beaten to the ground and half 
drowned, and finally reaching the old Cave, the 
only possible other shelter, and crawling in, 
soaked and chilled, to lie, packed like sardines in 
a box, till morning. 


300 


Disaster and a New Task 

It was not a pleasant picture; she was glad to 
come back to the reality, — the interior of the 
wickiup, somewhat disorderly with so much 
wood and everything piled away from the rock 
wall, but warm and dry and safe; Delbert 
stretched out by the fireplace, a great strong 
boy, his eyes, steady and straightforward, re- 
garding the flames as they spluttered in protest 
against the water that found its way down the 
chimney; Davie sprawling at her feet, sleeping in 
utter carelessness of the storm, well knowing 
that whatever happened he would be taken care 
of ; the two girls on a blanket beyond him, awake, 
and Jennie a little nervous but Esther calmly 
confident that everything would turn out all 
right, — that they were, and would continue to 
be, safe. 

Marian's throat swelled a little as she watched 
them. How dear they were, every one, and so 
big and strong now, even Davie! Surely now, 
when this storm was over and the Mugg5rwah 
repaired, they might start back to the Port. The 
first few miles outside the shelter of the bay 
would be the worst. The waves were always 
very big and high out there, but after that, — 
301 


Smugglers’ Island 

well, they might not make very good time, 
but what mattered it if they were a week on the 
way, so they got there at last? They could take 
food and water with them, though for that mat- 
ter they could go hungry and thirsty if need be ; 
what mattered it so they got home ? 

All that night the wind tore at them; all the 
next day it screamed about their ears, and the 
breakers on the beach were like great guns of a 
battle. The next night it calmed down, and the 
next morning they sallied forth to take account 
of the damage done. 

They found a considerable amount of damage, 
— the felling of many banana plants, half the 
patch in fact, the complete disappearance of 
every melon vine on the point, every plant in the 
garden beaten into the ground, the little pig 
gone, and their carefully gathered woodpile scat- 
tered to the four winds. But all this sank into 
insignificance beside the fact that not one log of 
the Muggywah was left to them. The tree had 
been uprooted and washed away bodily, and all 
search up and down the beaches revealed no 
trace of it. The great storm had cast many 
treasures at their feet, but they were so dispir- 
302 


Disaster and a New Task 

ited over their losses that they could not be very 
joyful over the gains. 

Mechanically they lugged the wood up out of 
reach of the waves, which were still pounding 
angrily, gathered in a number of new bottles, 
and took note of the great masses of seaweed 
that would make fresh carpet when it was dry. 
But with all the wood there was no log like those 
of the lost Muggywah, and with all their gazing 
to sea they could not see anything that might of 
a bare possibility be an uprooted tree. 

They fashioned a poor sort of a raft out of the 
best pieces of the driftwood, and with its aid ex- 
plored the outer reefs and ester os and even as far 
as the egg islands. The raft was clumsy and 
slow and generally unmanageable, and Delbert 
said that it made him sick just to look at it, but 
they wanted to go longer distances than they 
could swim, and the float was made to serve. 

At the end of about two weeks, however, Del- 
bert said : It ’s no use, Marian. We are only 
wasting time. The Muggywah simply did not 
lodge anywhere near us. Maybe it did n’t 
lodge at all ; it may be going yet, in three differ- 
ent directions, and our best ropes with it.” 

303 


Smugglers’ Island 


‘‘Yes, more’s the pity, Delbert. I hate losing 
your hair rope about as bad as losing the Muggy- 
wah herself.” 

“Well,” — and the boy’s jaw set solid and 
square, — “ there ’s not a bit more use crying 
over a lost boat than there is in crying over spilt 
milk. We can’t find it, and we have n’t got a 
stick of timber fit to put into a new one either. 
We can’t walk back to the Port ; it would be hun- 
dreds of miles to follow the coast line, and we 
should be sure to get lost if we tried any short 
cuts. If Davie was a couple of years older, I ’d 
say to risk it. But we are n’t going to wait two 
more years. I want to see mother.” His voice 
broke a little, but he conquered it and went on. 
“There is only one thing to do; it has been in my 
head kind of hazy for some time, but now I ’ve 
got it clear; we must fix the old canoe, Marian.” 

“How?” asked Marian quietly, for she had 
never been able to think of any way to do 
that. 

“Well, we must put a framework in the side 
that is gone, the hole, you know. I ’m not sure 
yet just what is the best material, but I think 
palm-leaf stems would be, — we can burn holes 

304 


Disaster and a New Task 

through the canoe to fasten to, — a solid frame- 
work, that will not break and give way at any 
little tap, and as near the shape of the other side 
as we can make it. Then we’ll weave in basket- 
work, strong as we can, and, as we go, pack all 
the cracks full of fiber and pitalla tar. I Ve got 
it all studied out, Marian. We’ll weave the 
basketwork double with a space between, and 
in that space we can put stones, just enough 
to make that side of the canoe as heavy as the 
other. We’ll mix the fiber and tar together and 
pound it down as we go along, and when it ’s all 
finished, if there come any cracks, we can fill 
them in with cotton and tar, and if we can’t jam 
it in tight enopgh so but what it still leaks some, 
why, one of us can bail all the time.” 

“Do you know how to make pitalla tar?” 

Delbert threw up his head. 

“Yes, I do! That is one thing I saw made that 
I paid enough attention to to know how it was 
done. Bobbie’s Uncle Jim used to try it out. 
Don’t you remember? He had a place fixed down 
by the old blacksmith shop, and we kids were 
always fooling around there, and he showed and 
explained all about it to us.” 

. 305 


Smugglers’ Island 

‘‘And for a wonder you listened?” asked 
Jennie. 

“For a wonder I listened,” he answered, smil- 
ing grimly. 

“ Good boy ! ” said Marian. “ F rom now on we 
bend our energies to the canoe. When it is done, 
we won’t wait for anything more, — once we can 
sail it, — we won’t wait for anything more ex- 
cept a still day. The first still day we ’ll start for 
home.” 

Delbert had a great time making a retort to 
extract his tar. He found a place near High-Tide 
Pool where there was a hole in the rock which he 
could utilize, and he built it up with stones and 
earth till it suited him. 

Then they began gathering the pitalla. They 
had gathered everything near them for the fire- 
place, but they knew where there was plenty 
more to be had, so they went after it, — up the 
estero^ past the tide-flats toward the lagoon. 
There they could gather it, pile it high on the 
clumsy raft, and float it home as they had 
brought the thatch-grass. It was slow work, but 
there was no other way. It was not so easy to 
get down to the estero as the grass had been, 
306 


Disaster and a New Task 

for th^pitalla is thorny indeed, but they man- 
aged it somehow, because they had to. They 
could gather a good deal on the shores nearer 
home, but nowhere was there such an abun- 
dance as beyond that particular estero. 

They decided, however, never to leave the 
home Island alone. They had seen several canoes 
since the storm, and they hoped one might come 
into San Moros and near enough to be signaled. 
Delbert and the girls were perfectly capable of 
gathering the pitalla and bringing it home; so 
Marian and Davie stayed at home to do the 
work there and watch the bay for canoes. 

Marian put in a little garden, for they could 
not tell how long it might take them to finish 
the canoe, and she planted part of the melon- 
patch over again, thinking that what they did 
not reap perhaps some one else would. She 
straightened up the bananas and mended the 
fence where they had dragged the old canoe out 
of it. 

As soon as they had got quite a little pile of 
pitalla^ they began to burn it in the retort, and 
some one had to watch that and attend to it. 
Delbert was sure that he lost a great deal of tar 

307 


Smugglers’ Island 

because his retort was so crude. He was sure 
Bobbie’s Uncle Jim got much more out of a pile 
of pitalla than he did, but he had to manage as 
best he could. And the tar did come; it trickled 
down into the little dishpan slowly but surely, 
and Delbert, impatient though he was, would set 
his face toward the estero and bring more pitalla. 

Every morning the three were in such a hurry 
to get off that they did not stop for a hot break- 
fast, and they took only a light lunch with them 
for noon, but Marian always had a good hot 
meal ready for them upon their return. The de- 
struction of the garden was a drawback, for the 
little new one was not of service yet. Still, not 
all the plants had been destroyed by the storm; 
some had been rescued, straightened up, washed, 
and tied to stakes, and were pursuing the even 
tenor of their way again, and, of course, the tur- 
nips and carrots that had already attained their 
growth were as good as ever, and the newly 
planted seeds would soon be making quite a 
showing. 

Twice since the storm Delbert had killed a 
deer, and the meat was not allowed to spoil. 
What could not be cooked immediately 
308 


was 


Disaster and a New Task 

salted and dried, some of it smoked, and all was 
watched carefully to thwart the flies. When the 
raft came back at night it would bring game of 
some kind, — a rabbit killed in the brush of the 
shore or a fish speared on the way down the 
estero. These would be put into the kettle and 
left simmering over the coals till morning, or 
wrapped in green banana leaves and buried in 
the hot coals, to be raked out hastily for break- 
fast; and of the remnants Marian would make 
a stew to have piping hot for supper, flanked by 
a dish of greens which she and Davie had picked. 

As they ran across them, the children brought 
in other things that they needed, — tough sticks, 
or mescal plants to make ropes of, — and Davie 
was always waiting for them on the pier to see 
what the particular booty of the day was and to 
carry it up to the wickiup to show Marian. And 
Marian always had warm water ready for them, 
and when they had washed off the day’s accumu- 
lation of dirt and combed the tangled hair and 
braided it anew, — they did not stop for that in 
the morning, — they would sit down and eat ; 
and they always ate all Marian had prepared for 
them, too, and then filled up on bananas and 

309 


Smugglers’ Island 

chattered and chattered like a flock of birds all 
the time. Then they would go down and unload 
the pitalla and carry it over to the retort, and by 
that time they were ready to settle down in the 
wickiup in front of the pitalla fire for a rest. 

There would be a very short session of school 
then, a little reading from the rabbit-skin book, 
a review of the multiplication or division tables, 
and a spelling-lesson. It was not much; Marian 
had got them about as far as she could without 
books, and it did not seem as if it mattered so 
much, now that the home-going was, as you 
might say, in sight. They always sang in the 
evenings. Their mother had come of a musical 
family, and Marian had taught them all the 
songs she knew, and there was not one of them 
that could not sing sweet and clear and strong. 
Marian gloried in their voices and knew that her 
mother would too. 

And she always had to tell them a story after 
lessons were over. They said that was Marian’s 
lesson. She had become quite expert at it. 
Usually it was a rehashing of some dimly re- 
membered thing that she had read, but some- 
times it was a pure product of her imagination. 

310 


Disaster and a New Task 

If it was an Indian story, why, so much the 
better, for the tribe never forgot that it was a 
tribe, though sometimes the Indian names and 
pretenses would be dropped for several weeks, 
only to be taken up with renewed vigor later. 

When Marian thought that it was long enough 
since they had eaten, and about bedtime, — her 
watch had stopped the year before, — they 
would go down to the water and have their swim. 
Sometimes the water was pretty cold, but they 
were so used to it that they did not stop for that 
any more. Once in a while Davie was left asleep 
at the wickiup, but as a rule he went with them. 

They would take the raft away out from shore 
and have oceans of fun plunging from it, diving, 
swimming races, floating, in short doing every- 
thing that could be done in the water. 

A favorite game was ‘‘rescue.” One of them 
would fall overboard with a yell of “Oh, save 
me!” and then do as little as possible to help 
himself, while another one would dive in after 
him and those on the raft would paddle it off a 
little, so as to give the gallant rescuer scope for 
his or her endeavors. They got so that there 
was not one of them — except Davie — who 

311 


Smugglers’ Island 

could not take care of hims.elf and one other in 
the water, and even Davie could make a very 
respectable stagger at it. 

Delbert and Esther were the best swimmers ; 
they could do the most difficult stunts. In a 
straight swim, though, Marian would outlast 
Esther, while Jennie fell considerably behind her. 

Moonlight nights were best for this play. 
Marian, her paddle in hand, watched them with 
exultation in her heart, they were so strong and 
full of grace ; and they were hers, — she had 
thought, studied, prayed, watched, and worked 
for them. Once she had read a novel whose hero 
had been described as being ‘‘straight and hand- 
some as a young god.” That was the phrase that 
always came into her mind out there on the raft 
as she watched Delbert, — “ straight and hand- 
some as a young god,” — but she never said it 
aloud. 

And Jennie, — puny, sickly little Jennie, al- 
ways the least pretty of them all, — how slim 
and lovely she stood in the moonlight, her hair 
in two dripping braids, her eyes like shining 
stars ! It fairly took Marian’s breath away some- 
times to realize what a winsome beauty was 
. 312 


Disaster and a New Task 

growing to be Jennie’s. She had always expected 
Esther to be pretty, but that Jennie should blos- 
som out like this! 

Sometimes the water was full of phosphores- 
cence. This was, of course, more noticeable on 
dark nights, and then every move they made was 
a pale blaze. That was better than moonlight ; it 
was magic; it was a fairyland made real. Then 
they quit playing they were Indians and played 
they were mermaids and sea-goblins of the deep. 
The raft was a Spanish galleon wrecked in ages 
past and drifting still, filled with treasure. Just 
see how the jewels gleamed! Or it was a great 
sea turtle, ridden by sea nymphs, plunging 
and careering, "unable to throw off its tor- 
mentors. Then it was foam of the waves, un- 
substantial and formless, and the fish that 
came scurrying by in silver flashes were chased 
in glee. 

It was always hard to coax them back to land 
on these nights, but sooner or later they had to 
go, and they would then huddle about the fire a 
little, drying their hair, before they lay down to 
sleep soundly till morning. Then early the three 
would be up and off, generally taking their break- 

313 


Smugglers’ Island 


fast with them to eat on the way up the estero, 
while Marian and Davie took up their daily 
tasks. 

Davie found it a little lonesome with Delbert 
and the girls gone all day, but he was such a 
sunny-tempered little chap that he managed 
pretty well after all. There were his lessons, 
which went much faster and smoother than they 
had done at first, and then he helped Marian do 
everything, even cook. And he made little boats 
and sailed them, and he rode on Jackie, who was 
growing very steady and sedate this year, and he 
gathered in wood and crabs. Always he watched 
for little shells and other treasures of the sea, to 
bring to Marian for her inspection, as she sat 
weaving or writing in the rabbit-skin books. It 
was at this time that she wrote out “Thanatop- 
sis,” all but six lines that she could not for the 
life of her remember. 

She kept her subconscious mind on the retort 
and went out every so often to attend to it, for 
all things now were subordinate to the tarring 
of that canoe. When the little dishpan was full 
of pitalla tar and they had a nice big pile of 
pitalla on hand, they decided to begin on the 

314 


Disaster and a New Task 

work. So they dragged the canoe into the water 
at the pier and paddled it round to the other side 
of the Island and dragged it up high on the beach 
not far from the tar retort. Then they began the 
main task to which all these weeks had been pre- 
paratory. 

Marian left the housework and cooking to the 
girls; they could spear the fish and gather the 
greens and cook them, they could boil down 
the salt water and take it out on the raft to the 
reef and bring back the dry salt, and they could 
watch the dry meat and gather the bananas. 
The older sister and Delbert devoted their time 
to the canoe. There were holes to be burned and 
the toughest and "strongest of pegs to be whittled 
and driven in; there was much testing of ma- 
terials, much discussion of ways and means, 
much sighting and squinting and balancing. 
This work must be done right. 

Slowly the framework grew. The basket work 
would be made entirely of the split palm stems, 
or, if there were not enough of them, they would 
put the next best thing on the top. 

They tipped the old canoe into the best posi- 
tion to work on and propped it up with stakes 

31S 


Smugglers’ Island 

and stones. And when the framework was fin- 
ished, they called in Jennie for her opinion on the 
next step. So she worked too, for none of them 
could weave so well — so neatly and tightly — as 
she. And as she wove, Marian and Delbert began 
packing in the tarred fiber. It took a lot of it, 
but Delbert thought that, if they ran out en- 
tirely, they could, perhaps, use some kinds of sea- 
weed at the top where it would not matter so 
much. 

Egging-time came and went. They stopped 
work long enough to go for eggs once, and then 
Davie and the girls went alone, or Davie and 
Esther, while the three older ones worked stead- 
ily on the canoe. 

They had it about two-thirds done and were 
shifting it into a different position one day and 
propping it up, when Esther and Davie came 
running down the hill laughing. They had been 
off in the pasture. As soon as she got within 
calling distance Esther began to shout, ‘‘Davie’s 
found a panal! Davie’s found a panal!'^ 

“Don’t believe it,” said Delbert shortly. 

“Have,” declared Davie, coming up with a 
grin reaching from one ear .round to the other. 

316 


Disaster and a New Task 

“Have, too. 'S whopper. Heap big chief me. 
Find whopper panal. All the tribe eat.’’ 

Marian smiled indulgently. “Great brave, 
Hiawatha! Where did you find it? Where Poca- 
hontas had just pointed it out to you?” 

“No,” with great scorn; “I saw it myself. / 
pointed it out to her!' 

“Is that so, Pocahontas?” asked Marian, 
still smiling. 

“Yes, it is,” declared Esther; “and it is a 
big one, bigger than we ever had before, and 
we have been by it lots of times and none of us 
ever saw it before. Come on, Marian, let’s 
have it for supper. We haven’t had one for 
a year.” 

“I guess we have n’t,” agreed Marian. “ Some- 
how panales are not very plenty. What do 
you say, Delbert ? Shall we knock off work 
and take in this newly discovered and most mar- 
velously large panal?" 

“All right,” said Delbert, throwing down his 
stake. “Let me fix the retort first.” 

So they all trooped off and were soon en route 
to the pasture. It was a big panal, and it was 
so near to the path that it was a thousand 

317 


Smugglers’,^ Island 

•wonders that they had never seen it before, 
with all those little workers flying back and 
forth. But then it was a long way from the 
wickiup, and they had been so busy with the 
canoe lately that they had not been much in 
the pasture; and probably it had grown pretty 
fast and a few weeks earlier would not have 
shown much. 

At any rate, they took their toll of the little 
workers now, taking care to leave enough of the 
center for them to build on again and going off 
with their booty in the kettle and pail well cov- 
ered. They had not gone far when they came 
upon the deer, and, of course, Delbert must try 
for a shot. He could have got one, a little fawn, 
but his heart forbade. It was such a dainty little 
darling that he would n’t have minded catching 
it alive, but as long as there was other food he 
would not kill it. 

It was past noon as they wended their way 
back. Those who were not carrying honey 
gathered up wood. Davie was ahead. As they 
came out by the rock where the path wound 
smoothly down to the pier, Davie stopped sud- 
denly and let his wood fall to his feet. 

318 


Disaster and a New Task 


‘‘Look!” he said excitedly. “What’s that? Is 
that a canoe by the pier?” 

They all looked. 

“Canoe!” said Delbert in a queer, quiet voice. 
“That ’s the launch.” 


CHAPTER XIII 

HOW THE LAUNCH CAME BACK TO SMUGGLERS’ 

When the Hadleys had left Mexico they had 
turned their steps toward California. They had 
some friends there, but the place they finally 
bought was not near any of them. It was many 
miles inland, too, for Mrs. Hadley had said she 
did not want to live by the ocean. 

^‘All my life I have been fond of it,” she said, 
“but now I don’t want ever to have to see it 
again.” 

So they had settled down on a little fruit farm 
in the interior. 

They are not cheap, those little fruit farms of 
California. The price asked per acre is usually 
enough to make your head swim till you get used 
to it, and the Hadleys were not rich, which ex- 
plains the fact that every cent they had in the 
world was not enough to pay for that farm. 
But they pmd over what they had and set out to 
raise the rest from the farm itself. In a few years 
they had succeeded. 


320 


^ How THE Launch came back 

Neither of them was old yet ; they could still 
work, and did work. But Mrs. Hadley’s face 
was quieter than it had been in former years, 
though she went about patient and cheerful, a 
busy, kindly woman much beloved by her neigh- 
bors. 

Mr. Hadley was older than his wife by a num- 
ber of years. He was beginning to turn gray 
when their sorrow came to them, and his hair 
whitened rapidly after that, and somehow he did 
not seem so tall as he had been ; but, aside from 
that, one would not have seen any great change 
in him. 

They made a fair living, nothing more, out of 
the farm. Sometimes there is drought, you know, 
or there is failure of crops for some other reason, 
or the crop is too large and then prices go down, 
and transportation takes most of the profits in 
any case. And because of all these things the 
Hadleys had been in California over six years be- 
fore they felt free to take a little visiting-trip 
among their friends who lived in the State. 

They had to plan most carefully then to keep 
within the limits of their very modest income, 
for already there loomed on the horizon of the 
321 


Smugglers’ Island 

future the expenses of the coming season. But 
they went and had a good time, being heartily 
welcomed everywhere, and nowhere more heart- 
ily than at the Harrises’, the last place on their 
list. The Harrises had been old neighbors at the 
Port, being in fact none other than the family 
who numbered among its members the Clarence 
to whom the Island Hawks felt that they owed 
so much. 

Clarence was not a boy now; he was a man 
grown, but he still lived at home and helped his 
father run a fruit ranch of about four times the 
size of that of the Hadleys. A man grown he 
was, but in many respects the same boy, as was 
proved by the way his widowed sister’s children 
trailed at his heels all day. 

The Hadleys arrived in the evening, and it 
was not till the next day at noon that the con- 
versation turned upon their loss at the Port. 
The Harrises had heard about the happening at 
the time, for Mrs. Harris corresponded with 
Bobbie’s mother, ‘ and they had received, too, 
several newspapers containing reports of the 
occurrence, these having been marked and sent 
out by Mr. Cunningham to various persons to 
322 


How THE Launch came back 

whom he knew the event would be of interest. 
But there were, of course, details that they 
had never heard, and it was only natural that 
they should ask for the story and that Mr. 
Hadley should tell it over as they sat about 
the table after the main part of the meal had 
been eaten. 

Clarence was sitting between his lively little 
niece and nephew, cracking walnuts for them, 
picking the meats out into their eager little 
hands, and making little boats and turtles of the 
shells. The little boy had slipped down and 
brought him the mucilage-bottle, a piece of stiff 
paper, and his grandmother’s best shears, pur- 
loined from her basket with many sideways 
glances. 

Mr. Hadley told the tale quietly. They were 
undemonstrative people, and after these years 
they could talk of this quite without emotion. 
He told it all, — all the little incidents, — how 
Esther had been sent for the forgotten bathing- 
suits the evening before ; how Marian had started 
out without sufficient wraps and Bobbie’s 
mother had made her take her big cape ; of the 
question Mr. Easton put to them as they were 

323 


Smugglers’ Island 


going down to the pier and Delbert’s answer. 
Of the long search and nothing to pay for it save 
the little handkerchief beaten into the sand. 
The others asked a question now and then during 
the recital, but Clarence sat silent, letting no 
word of the story escape him, but making no 
comments as he worked quietly on the little 
shell boats. 

When Mr. Hadley finished, he laid his ship- 
building tools down by his shell-littered plate, 
and, looking into the white-haired father’s eyes, 
spoke. 

“Mr. Hadley,” he said, “Smugglers’ Island 
was not within fifty miles of the Rosalie Group.” 

In one of the busy seaport towns of our Pacific 
Coast Mr. Hadley sat at a little restaurant table, 
eating an inexpensive meal alone. Every cent 
that he and his wife possessed in the wide world 
had gone into that little fruit farm up in the 
hills, and now by means of a mortgage on it he 
had raised money enough to carry him back to 
the coast to take up the old heart-breaking task. 
His passage was already engaged on a steamer 
to sail for the Port the next day. Mrs. Hadley 


How THE Launch came back 

remained on the farm to carry on the work there 
as best she could alone. 

If this were a model story, Clarence would 
most assuredly have gone with his old neighbor, 
but in real life people do not start on journeys 
unless they have the railroad or steamship fare, 
which Clarence did not have. It takes money to 
travel, and ordinary people cannot get money so 
easily that they can afford to spend it on any- 
thing that is not strictly necessary. Certainly 
Clarence wanted badly enough to go and show 
the way to Smugglers’ and search for his old 
playmates, but the best he could actually do was 
to make a map of the coast and San Moros as 
well as he could remember it, and give it to Mr. 
Hadley, with the name of the old Indian who 
had told him about Smugglers’ in the first place, 
but who, doubtless, had slept with his fathers for 
years now. 

What did Mr. Hadley expect to find on Smug- 
glers’ Certainly not his living children, for had 
they lived through the storm, even though the 
launch were disabled or destroyed, Pearson 
would have found some way to get back. No; 
it was only a confirmation of death which the 

32s 


Smugglers’ Island 


father looked for at best, something to show 
where and how his children had perished, — 
some fragment of the launch, perhaps, all but 
buried in the sand. 

As he sat eating, there came slowly into his 
consciousness a face at a table near him. He 
looked at it. Surely it had not been there when 
he came in. Whose was it ? Why did it seem to 
claim his attention more than the dozen others 
on all sides ? He tried to resume his meal, but — 
who was that man? where had he seen that face 
before ? 

In a blinding flash it came to him. It was 
Pearson! Pearson, the man whom Cunningham 
had sent with Marian and the children in the 
launch. But, of course, that could not be. Pear- 
son was dead, — dead these nearly seven years 
ago, — but this fellow — 

Just then the man looked up and met his gaze. 
It was the look of a complete stranger. Mr. 
Hadley politely dropped his eyes. But he did not 
drop his thinking, and so keenly conscious was he 
of that face that he knew instantly when the 
other rose from the table. 

Mr. Hadley glanced up again. The other was 
326 


How THE Launch came back 

leaving his dinner almost untouched. Mr. Hadley 
himself arose. His memory for faces was re- 
markably good; that man had Pearson’s face, he 
might be a brother; at any rate, he would speak 
to him; it could not be Pearson, but why was he 
leaving his dinner uneaten? 

The man, who was sauntering out apparently 
without haste, glanced back and saw Mr. Hadley 
advancing toward him, and a look came over his 
face that Mr. Hadley did not mistake. In a flash 
he knew it was Pearson ; impossible as it seemed, 
it was Pearson, and he was afraid ! 

A moment or two later a placid policeman just 
turning a corner was knocked nearly off his feet 
and out of his dignity by a man coming from the 
opposite direction, a man past middle age with 
white hair and flashing eyes. 

‘'Officer,” he cried, grasping the representative 
of the law by the arm, “arrest that man! the 
one in brown with the striped coat ! ” 

“What’s the charge?” inquired the police- 
man. 

“There will be charge enough,” cried the 
other; and from his earnestness and the rapidity 
with which the striped coat was disappearing 

327 


Smugglers’ Island 


down the street, the policeman concluded that 
the owner of it needed arresting and started 
forthwith in pursuit. 

Within two blocks he had two of his brother 
officers chasing with him, and farther on they 
gathered up another one, to say nothing of the 
several onlookers who joined for the pure pleas- 
ure of the chase. 

The policemen were used to chasing men, but 
Mr. Hadley was not, and in spite of his utmost 
efforts he was soon left in the rear. As he kept 
on, panting and puffing, and seeing more and 
more ground stretch between himself and the 
bluecoats, and was finally left out of sight alto- 
gether, it came over him what a good idea it 
would have been for them to have carried paper 
scent, as the boys used to when they played hare 
and hounds, for now they were like to catch 
their man so far away that he would never be 
able to find them. 

And, indeed, it was a long and merry chase, 
and when it came to an end, as luck would have 
it, a patrol-wagon was just passing, and into it 
the triumphant bluecoats thrust their man in the 
striped coat, one of them going with him while 
328 


How THE Launch came back 

the rest dispersed, the first retracing his steps 
till he met the breathless Mr. Hadley. 

‘‘Got him.f^ Of course we got him. He’s safe 
enough, never you worry. You can go down and 
appear against him in the morning.” 

“In the morning!” gasped Mr. Hadley. “In 
the morning I I ’m not waiting till morning. It ’s 
right now that I want to talk to him!” 

The officer regarded him a moment, and then, 
“Would yer mind tellin’ me what the man has 
been doin’?” he inquired. 

Mr. Hadley leaned against a building till he 
had regained his breath and his self-control. 

“Six or seven years ago,” he said, “my five 
children went out in a little gasoline launch for 
a day’s excursion. That man went with them to 
run the launch for them. We never saw them 
again and could get no trace of them, and sup- 
posed they had all drowned together. But to-day 
I ran across him, and when he saw that I recog- 
nized him and was going to speak to him, he 
ran. You will understand that I can’t wait till to- 
morrow to know what became of my children.” 

The officer glanced at his watch. ‘‘My own 
time is up,” he said. “I’ll walk up with you.” 

329 


Smugglers’. Island 

“Take your time an’ get your breath back,” 
he added presently. “He is safe enough; ’twas 
Larry O’Flannagan had him by the shoulder, 
an’ no man ever yet broke from Larry’s grip 
when he once got a good grip on ’im. He ’s safe 
enough.” 

Safe enough he certainly was, and an hour 
. later he stood face to face with the father of the 
Hadley children. 

“You ’ve made a mistake,” he repeated. • 
“You ’ve made a mistake. My name is not 
Pearson. My name is Franks, John Franks. I 
never lived in the Port; never was across the 
line into Mexico at all, in fact. No, I never saw 
you before, not to my knowledge at least.” 

He said it all over again stubbornly, and, with 
dark and scowling face, he declared that Mr. 
Hadley would be sorry for this trouble he was 
making him, and he wanted it understood most 
emphatically that he had never been in Mexico 
six years ago or at any other time and that his 
name was John Franks. 

But Mr. Hadley knew he was not mistaken, he 
knew the man was Pearson, and he would not 
back down or give one hair’s breadth, and under 

330 


How THE Launch came back 

his steady, stern gaze Pearson suddenly threw 
up the game with a vehement burst of profanity, 
winding up with the inquiry as to what earthly 
difference it made to Hadley about the launch, 
anyhow? 

Mr. Hadley stared at him a moment. 



“ WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY CHILDREN ? ” 


"‘Launch!’’ he said slowly, — “launch! What 
do you suppose I care about the launch ? What 
I want to know is, what did you do with my 
children?’^ 


331 


Smugglers’ Island 

It was now Pearson’s turn to stare. His jaw 
dropped, and his face turned ashy. 

‘‘Your children.? What do you mean? 
Did n’t they find Miss Marian and the kids all 
right?” 

“Find them! Where? Where did you leave 
them? They ’ve never been seen from that day 
to this. Speak up! What did you do with 
them?” 

Pearson crumpled down into a chair. There 
was no more resistance in him. 

* “Good Heavens! Hadley, I never dreamed of 
any harm coming to them. I’ll tell you all I 
know about it.” 

And tell it he did, holding nothing back. He 
told it all, — how Cunningham had discharged 
him for no fault of his, so he declared, and how 
he had vowed that he would get even with the 
dude; he would n’t take dirty treatment from no 
man. He had nothing against the girl and the 
kids ; he would n’t have hurt them, but he did n’t 
suppose it would. People were going out to those 
picnics every day, and they often camped over- 
night, and when he saw what a daisy the launch 
was, — she ran like oil, — it just came to him 

332 


How THE Launch came back 

that he could leave them there on the Island 
and run the launch over to Santa Anita, where 
he knew a couple of fellows who would take it 
off his hands. 

So he did it; he was owing the fellow at Santa 
Anita about seventy-five dollars that he would 
have paid long before if Cunningham had not 
fired him; and he got there before the storm got 
really bad and hunted up his friend that night 
and found he would be glad to take the launch 
on the debt and pay him the difference. 

The storm was sure a bad one, but he had 
thought that Miss Marian and the kids would 
be all right, for the boy had been telling about a 
house on the Island around on the sheltered side 
and a cave, too, and he left them all the food and 
blankets, and he thought Cunningham would be 
after them the first thing in the morning. He M 
left Santa Anita as soon as the storm was over 
so anybody could leave, and, of course, he had 
not heard anything about the tragedy at the 
Port, but he’d swear by everything holy that 
he never dreamed of any harm coming to 
them. 

Mr. Hadley explained then; he told the man 
333 


Smugglers" Island 

huddled up before him of the search that had 
been made, and how he himself had just in the 
last week learned what and where Smugglers" 
Island was, and how he was even then on his 
way to see if after all these years there was 
some trace still to be found in San Moros. 

When he had finished, Pearson straightened 
up a little. 

‘'Look a-here, Hadley,"" he said, “I"ve been 
some tough, but I"d never "a" done a thing like 
that if I"d "a" known it, and since then I"ve 
been straight. I told you the truth when I said 
my name was Franks; that is my name; I used 
Pearson at the Port for other reasons, but when 
I got back to God"s country I went back to my 
own name. I was married under it about a year 
later. My wife is a fine woman, and we "ve got 
two fine children. I"ve been as straight as a 
string and we"ve got some ahead. O Hadley, 
don’t put me through for this ! — it will come 
harder on my wife and the kids than it will on 
me if you do, — and I "11 go down with you and 
help you hunt, show you the way and all; and 
you can use my money to the last cent; it ain’t 
much, but it’s all yourn to carry on the search; 
334 


How THE Launch came back 

and Lll stand by you and help you as long as 
there ’s life in me, for, as God is my witness, Had- 
ley, I never meant no harm to Miss Marian and 
your kids. I would n’t ask it if ’t was n’t for my 
own kids.” 

Mr. Hadley was thinking. He believed the 
man was telling the truth, and no punishment 
meted out to him would bring back the dead. 
As far as that went, what punishment would be 
fitter than to take him back with him and let 
him see, if, indeed, there was anything left to 
see, the terrible suffering his act had caused.^ 
And there would be something left ; not six years 
nor seven would destroy what five deaths had 
left on that grim island in San Moros. 

' Before they sailed, Mr. Hadley had time to 
write to his wife and tell her of his finding Pear- 
son and of what he had learned from him and of 
the latter’s agony of remorse. After receiving the 
letter, Mrs. Hadley sat down and wrote most of 
its contents to Mrs. Harris, for she knew their 
old friends would be anxious to hear any news. 
After hearing that letter read, Clarence declared 
that he could have lived seven years, or twice 
seven years on Smugglers’, and he dared bet 
335 


Smugglers’ Island 

Marian could. But his father and mother were 
quite sure there was no hope of that. 

"‘Why/’ said Mrs. Harris, “Jennie would not 
have lived three days after exposure to that 
storm. I never knew such a delicate child.” 

“And,” Mr. Harris declared, “if they had 
lived any length of time at all, some one would 
have seen some sign of them in all this time. 
Probably they took refuge in that cave and were 
washed out and drowned the first night.” 

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “I’d forgotten 
about Jennie being so sickly, and Delbert him- 
self was not what you would call rugged, but if 
they lived through the storm there’s a chance, 
I tell you. Their not being seen since does n’t cut 
any figure. There was a reason for that. I never 
told Delbert, for I did n’t want to frighten him, 
and he was a nervous little chap, but no Indian 
ever went to Smugglers’. You couldn’t have 
hired one to, and I tell you, if they lived through 
the first night, there’s a chance! and oh, glory! 
would n’t 1 have liked to go along?” 

The steamer that Mr. Hadley and Pearson 
had taken passage on was pretty well filled up 
with passengers. Among others there was a 

336 


How THE Launch came back 

group of mining men going to the Port, whence 
they would make their way inland, and there was 
a wealthy Mexican family also bound for the 
Port, with a half-dozen fine-looking daughters 
who reminded you of all the Spanish romance 
you had ever read every time you looked at 
them. 

There were various others, and among them 
all Mr. Hadley and Pearson attracted no par- 
ticular attention until the morning they were 
nearing the Port, when it was learned that Mr. 
Franks and the white-haired gentleman with 
him had a launch aboard and were going to be 
set down in it out in the Gulf and were not going 
into the Port at all. It seemed that the captain 
had known about it all the time, but to the 
passengers it seemed like a very queer thing 
to do. 

However, some one made the announcement 
that the two were going to examine some guano 
caves for a rich company, and that seemed to 
explain everything, and the passengers watched 
with interest while the launch was being made 
ready and lowered, and the mining men all hung 
over the rail and cheered as she shot off across 
337 


Smugglers’ Island 



to hinder the captain from forgetting himself 
and coming up sharp on the rocks ? 

They passed the Rosalie Group before long. 
On dark and cloudy nights people on boats pass- 
ing there can hear children crying, and if the 

338 


the water, and the pretty sehoritas waved their 
handkerchiefs, and then everybody turned his 
attention to watching the channel, for if the pas- 
sengers did not keep a sharp lookout, what was 


THE PRETTY SENORITAS WAVED THEIR HANDKERCHIEFS 


How THE Launch came back 

night is actually stormy, you are likely to see 
Marian Hadley walk across the white-capped 
waves wrapped in a long cloak. This is a solemn 
fact. The captain told it himself. He said he did 
not tell the tale at night. No one connected the 
name of Hadley with the white-haired Mr. Had- 
ley who had left them in the launch. 

Pearson was running the launch. Mr. Hadley 
had Clarence’s map spread out on his knee. 
There was silence between them. Pearson’s face 
looked drawn and old. Mr. Hadley was tired and 
patient; he was looking at the map, but he was 
not thinking of it. 

Pearson leaned forward to look at the little 
map. 

don’t remember just what the shore-line 
looked like along here,” he said, "'but I guess I 
shan’t miss San Moros.” 

He did not, either. About noon he turned into 
the place, remembering Delbert’s instructions 
which tallied with the map correctly. The tide 
was high just then, anyway, and there was no 
danger of sandbars or sunken rocks. In a little 
more he could point out to Mr. Hadley the 
outline of Smugglers’ Island as he remembered it. 

339 


Smugglers’ Island 


Afterwards, as they got pretty close to it, he 
said in a low voice, “Maybe we’d better go in 
back of it. That ’s where they said the harbor 
and the pier were, and it will be a better place to 
moor the launch than this pile of rocks ahead.” 

Mr. Hadley assented ; so they turned her nose 
and ran out by the sandy point and round it in 
back into the harbor. 

It seemed shadowy in there. It was dark and 
uncanny, Pearson thought. He shuddered. Not 
a sign of life had they seen other than the sea- 
birds, for the old canoe was too far up the beach 
to catch the eye, and the wickiup was so covered 
with vines that it blended perfectly with its 
background, especially as the doors and window 
were shut. 

Had they landed, they would have seen the 
path. Had Marian’s watermelons been a little 
higher, they would have attracted attention by 
reason of their regular rows, but they were 
scarcely above the holes yet. At the pier, too, 
there was nothing to tell them anything. The 
raft was farther along, back of some mango 
bushes. 

There were the bananas and the palms. The 

340 


How THE Launch came back 

corral fence was so overgrown that, like the 
wickiup, it attracted no attention till one was 
very close to it. 

They stepped out of the launch and moored her 
to the pier. Mr. Hadley noticed that Pearson’s 
face was gray again. He was losing his nerve. It 
seemed to him as if the air in this narrow slit in 
the hills were suffocating him. 

‘H ’ll take the things out,” he said to his com- 
panion. 

‘'All right,” said Mr. Hadley. His voice was 
quiet and even, and, turning, he walked toward 
the hill. 

Pearson stepped back into the launch, cursing 
himself under his breath for his own lack of self- 
control, for he was trembling; but taking the 
things out and carrying them up past the pier 
steadied him a little. 

Then he started to follow Mr. Hadley, and 
was glancing about wondering if there was any 
particular choice of spots to pitch camp in, when 
something on the hilltop caught his eyes. He 
stopped and stared with his mouth open. Out 
from among the bushes into an open space came 
one, two, three, four, five persons, and some of 

341 


Smugglers’ Island 


them were children! A sudden weakness came 
over him. He dropped where he was, and for a 
moment everything went whirling black. When 
he came to himself he was sitting on the ground, 




his knees clasped in his arms, as he rocked back 
and forth, repeating over and over his wife’s 
name, “Rose, Rose, Rose, it ’s them! O Rose, 
it ’s them! I ain’t killed ’em. Rose! Rose!” 

342 


How THE Launch came back 

Mr. Hadley had scanned the hillside to no 
avail as he started to walk toward it, and then he 
noticed what seemed to be a path leading to a 
mass of brilliant bloom beyond. He followed in 
the path. The tracks seemed to be those of deer. 

But when he came to the blossoms he was sur- 
prised. There were nasturtiums and poppies, a 
wild riot of them beside a little spring, or shal- 
low, scooped-out well, that was walled with rocks 
except at one place where stepping-stones led 
down. And there, sitting half buried in the 
clear water, shaded by overhanging bloom, was 
a two-quart Mason jar about half full of oysters. 

A most charming refrigerator truly, and Mr. 
Hadley stared at it stupidly, not even yet under- 
standing, when suddenly came a chorus of clear 
young voices calling to him from above, and, 
turning, the father saw what he had never hoped 
to see again this side the gates of heaven, — his 
five children racing down the hill to meet him. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE END OF THE PICNIC 

Pearson sat on the pier, swinging his feet. 
His feelings would have been hard to describe, 
they were so very mixed up. One moment he 
was swearing softly at the launch that was dip- 
ping gracefully up and down before him, then he 
grinned and whistled, also softly, a few bars of a 
rollicking tune. 

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the 
group up there by that tumbled pile of red and 
yellow and green. He could hear their voices, 
but he could not hear what they were saying. 
By and by, when they had had a little more 
time, perhaps he would go up there, though 
what in thunder he would say was more than he 
knew. Anyway, they were alive. That was 
something to tell Rose. Rose ! How her face had 
looked when she bade him good-bye. She had 
known that he had been tough, — thank good- 
ness he had not lied to her! — but he had not 
gone into details, and when he had had to tell 
her about that affair at the Port, — well, it was 
344 


The End of the Picnic 

a darned sight worse than anything else he had 
had to do. And when she kissed him good-bye, 
she had whispered that she would pray for him. 
Pray! Pearson laughed a little and kicked at 
the rocks. Wasn’t that just like a woman.? Pray! 
What good was it going to do to pray now about 
a thing that happened seven years ago .? But she 
would pray all right, and like as not she would 
always feel that her prayers had had something 
to do with their finding the lost ones alive and 
safe. Suppose they had died ! What good would 
praying have done then.? he wondered. 

But Rose would pray just the same, and when 
he got back to her, — he might have to ride a 
brake-beam to do it, — she would turn in and 
work her fingers to the bone to help him get 
another nest-egg rolled up, and never a word of 
blame would she say. No; she would spend all 
her spare breath thanking God that her prayers 
had been answered. 

What a queer thing life was, anyway! Here, 
seven years ago Cunningham had served him, 
Pearson, low-down mean, and he had retaliated. 
The affair was between him and Cunningham, 
was n’t it .? It would seem so ; but look you, 
34S 


Smugglers’ Island 

seven years afterwards the blow he dealt recoils 
on — whom? Himself? No, not by a jugful! 
On Rose; on Rose and his youngsters, the very 
people of the whole wide world that he loved 
and wanted most desperately to protect. If it 
had only been him, he would n’t say a word, 
but — darn it all 1 

Well, there they were coming down. He rose 
and turned. It was an awkward situation. 
Really, it would have been easier to stand up to 
be shot. 

It was Marian and Delbert. Pearson drew a 
long breath, and, throwing back his shoulders, 
went to meet them. 

Marian was first. She held out her hand, all 
brown and calloused, and her eyes shone at him 
from under wet lashes. 

“Mr. Pearson,” she said, “papa has explained 
it all to us, and — well, I guess I am too happy 
to lay up anything against you to-day.” 

Pearson took her hand. He choked a little, but 
found nothing to say. Then Delbert, the little, 
slender, nervous, eager lad, stood there, tall as 
his sister, straight and strong, and his clear eyes 
were steady and stern. 

346 


The End of the Picnic 

‘"Marion is of a pretty forgiving disposition/^ 
and his voice was cold and held scorn. ‘T think 
myself—^’ 

But Pearson reached out and gripped the hand 
the boy had not offered him, and found his voice. 

“Young man,” he said, “I am so all-fired 
glad to see you that I don’t care a red cent what 
you think!” 

Marian laid a gentle hand on her brother’s 
arm. 

“O Delbert,” she said softly, “not to-day, 
dear, not with papa here to take us all back safe 
to mamma. Besides, — it is n’t a parallel case, 
I know, — but suppose Davie had died that 
day he fell!” 

Delbert looked from her face, tremulous 
with joy, back to Pearson’s, and, remembering 
that terrible day that he had been in some small 
measure to blame for, he suddenly understood, 
understood something of what the man in front 
of him probably had been suffering. 

His face softened, and he returned the pressure 
of the other’s hand. 

“All right!” he said boyishly. “I guess what 
Marian says goes. You will have to fight it out 
347 


Smugglers" Island 


with Mr. Cunningham about the launch, but 
come on up to dinner now. Say/" he continued 
with a wistful eye on the pile of things from the 
launch, "‘you got anything to eat in those? — 
any bread or crackers?"" 

Up at the wickiup Mr. Hadley sat on a chunk 
of driftwood and looked over the treasures 
Esther and Davie showed to him, while Marian 
and Jennie prepared dinner. 

There was a great deal to show. There were 
the rabbit-skin books and the paper-tree-bark 
ones and the shell and bone and wooden toys. 
There were the ropes and baskets. 

Davie could not remember his father, but he 
curled down at his feet and, with an angelic 
expression on his face, smiled up into his eyes 
in the sunniest way possible. And every two 
minutes he would remember some other treasure 
and, hopping up, would go to fetch it. His 
father, watching his little limping gait, smiled 
at Marian, who shook her head sadly. “Too 
bad, daughter, but I think mamma will be willing 
to accept him, even if he is a little damaged."" 

“We "11 throw off a little on his price,"" said 
Jennie. 


348 


The End of the Picnic 

Pearson had brought up the lunch from the 
launch, and the Hawks fell upon it with the 
greatest enthusiasm. After dinner they began 
to pack up those things they wished to take with 
them. 

And, of course, before they left the Island 
they had to show the old canoe that would not 
need to be finished now, and the tar retort, and 
High-Tide Pool, and the watermelon-patch, and 
everything else. 

‘T’ll bet,” said Delbert, ‘‘that this place will 
be more popular for picnics from the Port than 
the Rosalies for a while.” 

So Marian left her dishes, the kettle and lit- 
tle dishpan, the knives and forks, and even the 
glass jar on the table. They put everything in 
neat order and tied the window down, and put 
the storm doors in place and fastened them, for 
though they did not expect ever to see the place 
again, they could not bare to think of the dear 
little wickiup standing untidy and open to the 
elements. 

They took a last survey from the top of the 
hill and then went down the path, the smug- 
glers’ old path, to the pier. 

349 


Smugglers’ Island 

They turned out the little burros, but when 
they called Jackie, he was nowhere to be found. 
He had wandered off somewhere with the other 
burros, as he had done sometimes of late. The 
children, Davie especially, felt badly to go with- 
out saying good-bye to Jackie, but Marian ex- 
plained that he would probably forget them in 
a little while and would be perfectly happy with 
the other burros, and perhaps would be happier 
than if they had stayed and made him carry 
loads for them once in a while. So Davie 
smoothed out his face, and curled down at 
his father’s feet again, quite contented. Noth- 
ing ever upset Davie for any great length of 
time. 

So the launch puffed out of the harbor and 
round the point, and then Smugglers’ was left 
behind them, and they were crossing the bay 
past the salt reefs, and now were out of sight 
of the egg islands, and soon were encountering 
the big waves that had guarded their prison so 
long. Jennie laughed, remembering how seasick 
she had been when they came in. Then San 
Moros itself passed from their sight, and the 
life there glided into a closed past. 

3SO 


The End of the Picnic 

Already Marian was planning a new and dif- 
ferent future. 

“Father,” she said, “you say you had to mort- 
gage the home to get the money to come for us. 
A mortgage is always a hard thing to lift, is n’t 
it?” 

“Apt to be, daughter,” replied Mr. Hadley, 
“but after seeing what you children did with 
your bare hands back on that Island, I am not 
worrying about a little thing like a mortgage. If 
you don’t like the place, we ’ll get your uncle 
to let us in some way on some of that wild land 
of his up in the mountains, and you can carve 
out and build up a place to suit yourselves.” 

The steamer at the Port had unloaded her 
passengers, — those that were to get off there, 
— and had since been busy taking in a nice 
little pile of cargo. Her captain wished to go 
out that night, and they were about ready to 
start. There were a good many down on the 
pier, coming and going, and the place was lighted 
by a few lanterns, leaving great spaces of shadow 
in between their circles of light. 

Mr. Cunningham’s new launch was just in 
with a picnic party from the Rosalies. They 
3SI 


Smugglers’ Island 

were unloading shawls and baskets and pails of 
clams. 

“I say, Cunningham,” called out one of this 
party, ‘‘is that Beekman’s crowd we passed out 
there?” 

“No,” was the answer; “Beekman will not be 
in for two days. I had a wire to-day.” 

“Well, who in thunder was it, then? We 
passed a launch out there. If it was n’t Beek- 
man, who was it?” 

“Perhaps it was the two men the captain 
dropped in the Gulf this morning. He said they 
would be in in a few days. Perhaps they changed 
their minds.” 

“Not much. This batch had women and chil- 
dren. They were laughing and singing, — 
mighty fine voices, too. We supposed it was 
those new cousins of Mrs. Beekman’s from New 
York.” 

“No, not they yet, but there comes a launch 
now. By Jove, there are women in it too.” 

Out of the darkness of the night and the 
water a launch came swiftly into the broad 
light of the stream. A moment they showed 
clear as in daylight to the crowd on the pier, 
352 


The End of the Picnic 

but that was not long enough for any one to 
recognize those upturned faces before they glided 
into a shadowy place not far from the other 
launch. 

People watched the new arrival curiously as 
it discharged its passengers, but they did not 
come out of the shadow. 

Then one man detached himself from the 
group and advanced into the light in front of 
Cunningham. 

‘‘Well, Cunningham,’’ he said in a clear voice, 
“there’s your launch.” 

Cunningham stared at him. 

“There ’s your launch, I say,” repeated the 
other, thrusting his face forward a little. Still no 
answer from the bewildered Cunningham, who 
could not imagine what he was talking about. 

The newcomer straightened up and placed his 
arms akimbo. 

“I say,” he repeated again, “that I have 
brought back your launch. Launch, man, 
launch ! There — is — your — launch ! ” 

From the group in the shadow came a little 
rippling laugh. 

Cunningham started. It was nearly seven long 
3S3 


Smugglers’ Island 

years, but he had not forgotten Marian Hadley’s 
laugh. He snatched at a lantern, but before he 
could detach it from its hook, a young fellow 
beside him, a great stalwart fellow, yelled and 
began to swing his hat. 

“The Hadleys!” he shouted, “the Hadleys!” 
and threw the hat into the air, but before it 
could fall he was rushing over, calling Delbert. 

Marian, laughing, grasped his arm. 

“For Heaven’s sake, Bobbie,” she said, “take 
us girls up to your mother before they get here 
with those lanterns.” 

Late, very late, that night Delbert sat on the 
edge of Bobbie’s bed and said to him : — 

“Now, look here ! what I want to know is, how 
in creation it could happen that, with that bay 
fairly teaming with fish and turtles, there could 
be over six years with never a canoe really inside 
of it, never one within hailing, or even signal- 
ing, distance of the Island, though it must be 
known among the Indians that there is fresh 
water and an old banana-patch there.” 

“Simplest thing in the world,” said Bobbie, 
tossing his shoes to one side and peeling off his 
socks. “All the Indians around these parts know 
3S4 


.0 



THE HADLEYS ! THE HADLEYS ! 


355 


Smugglers’ Island 

that San Moros is bad medicine for a native. I 
never thought much about it, but I ’ll bet on it 
now, that it was those same old smugglers. Prob- 
ably they murdered some Indians there to pre- 
vent their going off and telling of the place, or 
something like that. I never heard of the Island, 
but I have heard the Indians say numbers of 
times that people who go in to camp there never 
come out again. They think the farther shores 
are inhabited by some style of devil or hobgoblin, 
and I remember now I have heard them saying 
that in the last few years they have seen devil 
fires burning there.” 

‘‘Devil fires!” said Delbert helplessly, drop- 
ping his hands to his sides. “Devil fires!” 

“Your camp-fires, of course,” returned Bob- 
bie; “but if those fellows in the canoes that you 
tried to go out and intercept, — if they saw you 
at all, — that would be explanation enough of 
why they put up their sails and put off as fast as 
they could.” 

To the mother waiting on that far-off mort- 
gaged farm, a message went out that night, the 
last one sent from the office. It contained eight 
3S6 


The End of the Picnic 

words, and it was followed by a fat, fat letter the 
next day, which explained that it in turn was to 
be followed by a party of six just as soon as cer- 
tain absolutely necessary sewing could be done. 

But, after all, the telegram contained the 
heart of the matter, the sunshine of the whole 
wide world and part of that of the next world, 
all on a piece of yellow paper. At least, Mrs. 
Hadley thought so when she tore it open and 
read : — 

‘‘All found alive and well on Smugglers’ 
Island.” 


THE END 




CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 




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